The Return of Avalon
by Aurinko
Summary: When there’s trouble in Avalon and the plateau is in danger, a messenger is sent forth to find the Chosen One and the Protector’s daughter to bring them home.
1. Light and Laughter

The Return of Avalon

Author: A. Jacelyn

Summary: When there's trouble in Avalon and the plateau is in danger, a messenger is sent forth to find the Chosen One and the Protector's daughter to bring them home. Set after "Legacy", but Malone's around and Finn isn't.

Disclaimer: Forgot about this the first time, so here goes. I don't own The Lost World, any of the characters, or anything related to it, really. Need I add any more?

Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction, so please review (and be nice)! I'm afraid that this is looking rather epic-y, but I'm trying to get around to the plot. A very big thank you to everyone who reviewed.

Chapter One: Light and Laughter

John Richard Roxton, hunter, adventurer, and Lord of Avebury, watched his lady as she trudged through the jungle ahead of him. Allowing himself a brief moment to observe her unnoticed, he gazed in open admiration of her slim figure. Her dark curls were, to his dismay, twisted neatly into a braid. He much preferred them loose, flowing over her creamy shoulders like a wave upon the sea. How he dreamed of being able to freely run his fingers through her hair, losing himself in the flower-and-jasmine scent of her….. 

"John?" Marguerite called, startling him out of his reverie. She looked at him questioningly. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." _God, she's beautiful_, he thought. As always, he was amazed that the sole price of this goddess's company was to be stranded on a South American plateau. He would have gone to hell and back for her, walked across a bed of hot coals just to see her smile, hear her laughter.

"Are you sure? It's not every day that I outdistance the great white hunter only twenty minutes into a trip," she quipped, blue-green eyes sparkling with mischief. 

Roxton took a step closer to her, brown eyes taking on a predatory gleam. "This hunter is after a particularly elusive prey that requires patience over speed," he returned.

"And just what would this 'prey' be, milord?" Marguerite purred, leaning into him.

"A most beautiful, intelligent, courageous, and desirable..…" Roxton whispered huskily, leaning forward to claim her lips in a passionate kiss. She responded to his touch instantly, returning his kiss ardently and running her elegant hands over his shoulders. He drank of her deeply, tangling his fingers in her hair--and suddenly broke their embrace, softly cursing. _Not again, dammit!_ Marguerite looked up at him in surprise, then rueful acceptance as he scanned the jungle around them intently.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously, recognizing the tension in his strong body.

"I thought I heard something--" Roxton broke off and dove for his rifle as something rustled in the brush nearby. Raising the weapon to his shoulder, he pushed Marguerite behind him, then watched in surprise as a girl dashed out of the brush. Two raptors leaped out after her, and the child screamed as one of the raptors slashed at her back. Roxton took aim quickly. Four shots rang out and then all was silent.

Marguerite rushed over to the girl, who lay writhing on the ground in pain, her long blonde hair strewn about her. Red blossomed, staining the dark blue silk of her dress. Roxton knelt beside the heiress as she gently removed the clothing. She cursed softly, noting the deep gashes on the girl's back. Working quickly, Marguerite ripped the edges of the dress and tried to stop the bleeding. "That's the best I can do, John. She needs medical care, and soon," she whispered, looking up at Roxton.

"We'll take her back to the tree house, then," Roxton said. "Can you understand me, child? You're safe now. It will be all right," he reassured her. The girl's clear blue eyes were filled with unshed tears, and she was biting her lip to keep from crying out. Roxton felt his heart twist at the sight of a child in such agony, and trying so hard not to give into the pain. "I'm John Roxton, and we're going to take you home." He lifted the girl into his arms, disregarding the blood seeping through the makeshift bandages.

"I…" the girl whispered, looking about her dazedly. Seeing Marguerite, she tried to raise her head. "M…" she began before falling limply into his arms, unconscious. 

"Marguerite!" Roxton shouted. "We need to go now!" Marguerite grabbed his pack and rifle and they raced back to the tree house. Reaching the electric fence, Roxton began yelling for Challenger. Marguerite opened the gate as the others sent the elevator down. By the time they had reached the tree house, Malone had gotten the medical kit out and Veronica had found the bandages. 

"What's this?" Challenger asked, looking at the girl in Roxton's arms.

"We found her on the trail. Raptor attack," he replied grimly. 

"You can put her in my room," Marguerite offered. Veronica started in surprise, then went off to get some antiseptic. Roxton laid the girl gently on the bed, as Marguerite roughly pulled Challenger to her side. The scientist seemed surprised at her gesture, as did Marguerite herself. Shrugging, Challenger began a quick examination.

Though bleeding profusely, the gashes were shallow. Withstanding infection, the girl would be fine. Ned and Veronica left to prepare dinner, seeing the situation well in hand as Challenger quickly disinfected the wounds, then bound them tightly. Relaxing as he sat back to scrutinize his handiwork, Challenger was surprised to note that Marguerite was still there. In fact, the typically indifferent heiress was sitting on the bedside, holding the girl's limp hand and gently brushing errant strands of hair from her face. 

Unable to mask his surprise, the scientist looked over to Roxton, who was standing behind Marguerite. The hunter merely shrugged, long ago having gotten used to accepting anything from the mercurial heiress. Though also confused by Marguerite's actions, he was secretly pleased. "She'll be fine, Marguerite. Come on, let's get some dinner before Ned and Veronica finish it all," he teased.

"No, I think I'll stay here with her, just in case she wakes," Marguerite told him, still watching the face of the sleeping child. Roxton and Challenger exchanged confused glances, then shrugged and left quietly, knowing the mysterious enigma that was Marguerite Krux would take them more than a few measly years to unravel.

"What are we going to do with a child?" Challenger muttered as he entered the common room.

"We're going to keep her here until her parents come for her. Certainly she's not going out alone into the jungle again," Veronica said heatedly. The scientist looked up at her in surprise.

"Besides, Marguerite seems attached to her," Roxton added, amused. Everyone paused at that statement, then determinedly returned to preparing lunch. _What was it I said? Oh yes, Marguerite, attached._ Roxton couldn't keep the grin from spreading across his face. _My Marguerite, with a child._

After lunch, Ned finally voiced the question everyone had been wondering. "What's with Marguerite? I mean, we all know children aren't her favorite people, and…..well, Marguerite's not the most..…err…..child-friendly person..…" he added hesitantly with an apologetic look at Roxton. The hunter struggled not to laugh at Ned's poor attempt at diplomacy. "How'd you find the kid?"

"We were heading for the lake where Veronica had spotted some deer earlier, hoping to bring some venison back when the girl just broke through the brush, chased by a pair of raptors. We got the dinosaurs, but only after one of them got her. We weren't about to just leave the girl there, so I picked her up and we ran home. She passed out just after the attack," Roxton informed them.

"So why is Marguerite--" Ned was cut off by a call from Marguerite's room.

"She's waking up!"

Roxton reached the room just as the girl's eyes fluttered open. "How are you feeling, my girl? That was quite a wound you managed," he said genially.

"Better, sir," the girl replied quietly, trying to rise. Marguerite carefully helped her up, arranging the pillows to support her weight. "I…..where am I? Do you know me? I..…I can't seem to remember….." her voice trailed off. Her blue eyes darted about the room in panic, seeing the five explorers around her.

"She's obviously suff--" Challenger began informatively, but Marguerite cut him off before he could get another word out. The heiress had seen the way the girl's eyes had widened in fear at the scientist's words. Marguerite couldn't understand why she noticed the child's every motion, or why the child's fear should so effect her; she simply acted upon an instinct that was so natural it frightened her.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, everything will be fine. You just go back to sleep and try and get some rest," she said gently. The explorers couldn't keep the stunned expressions from their faces at her caring words, then at the way the girl relaxed, reassured by the least 'child-friendly' member of their "family".

"Will.….will you stay with me?" the girl pleaded softly, her hand tightening on Marguerite's.

"I'll be right here," she promised. To her surprise and the others' astonishment, the girl nodded and slumped back into the pillows. The explorers were dumbstruck and remained dead silent as the girl's breathing regulated and she fell into a healing sleep. Marguerite tenderly tucked the girl into bed, then stood, smoothing out her skirt. Looking up, she noted the four gaping mouths and stupefied expressions. "Close your mouths," she ordered tartly, careful to keep her voice down. "It's called common decency. Now, what was that you were going to say, George?"

"I…the girl's obviously suffering from amnesia, but you didn't mention any head injuries. Roxton?" he queried, overcoming his surprise in face of a medical mystery. "Roxton? John!"

"Wha-what? Oh, yes. It's possible. She fell after the raptor attack, but we were more worried about the slashes to notice anything else. She did seem disoriented, though." Challenger's lips held a hint of a smile, knowing what had caused the hunter's preoccupation. He examined the girl's head gently, then stopped abruptly as she let out a soft moan. 

"She's got a nice bump on the back of her head. Minor concussion, I'd say. She'll sleep for fifteen hours at least, but that's all. The amnesia is what has me worried. Head injuries are tricky." He paused, obviously working another of his theories out. "The girl's obviously European, but no expedition would bring a child. And yet you found here only two kilometers from here, and we know all the local tribes. Where could she have come from?"

"That dress she's wearing is pure silk, Challenger. It couldn't have been made near here," Veronica observed, "But I don't recognize the necklace she's wearing. It's not from any of the tribes I know of."

"A necklace? I'm surprised she's still wearing it, Marguerite," Ned quipped.

"What, no scathing rebuttal?" Roxton laughed. "You're losing your edge, my dear." Glancing over at Marguerite, he watched incredulously as she removed the necklace and held it up to the light. 

"I knew she wouldn't be wearing that necklace long," Ned whispered to Veronica. Roxton stepped behind Marguerite, his handsome features displaying his disbelief that she would so callously steal from an unconscious child. 

"That necklace is hers, Marguerite," Roxton told her sharply, still careful to keep his voice down.

"I know. I wouldn't think of taking it from her," she replied, abstracted. Ned and Veronica exchanged confused glances, as Roxton stepped in front of the heiress, still absorbed in a minute examination of the tiny silver charm. 

"I mean it, Marguerite," he repeated forcefully. She looked up at him, surprised.

"I told you already, I know," the former international jewel thief snapped, gently refastening the charm around the girl's neck. "Now, since you're no longer required here, why don't you and Challenger go clean up dinner, since Ned and Veronica were kind enough to cook and I'm needed here." Placing her hands on her hips, she looked at them pointedly. "Unless there's another reason you should be loitering in my room?"

Remembering the volatile temper of the mercurial heiress, Challenger, Veronica, and Ned wisely fled her private sanctuary; each naming an activity that required their attention. Lord Roxton, however, rose to the challenge and turned to face the fey-eyed beauty, using his debutante-disarming grin as a first strike. He advanced upon her as she rose to meet his attack, her weapons ready.

Ned waited in the family room, eager to see who had won the latest skirmish in the ongoing war between the hunter and the heiress. Veronica had left to retrieve the tools she'd dropped when Roxton had come dashing in and Challenger was in the lab, but he had remained in the tree house on the pretense of clearing the table. 

Veronica had given him a knowing look and whispered, "Marguerite. If I'm wrong, I'll take her dinner when I get back" before the elevator took her down. He privately thought that he'd gotten the better deal—Roxton would at least be civil if he lost, while if Marguerite…hearing Roxton's heavy steps, he quickly grabbed a pen and pretended to write.

Observing the British Lord from the corner of his eye, Ned noted the pleased, almost smug grin on his face and a similar grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Veronica would be serving Marguerite's dinner tonight, he noted with satisfaction. 

Marguerite Krux…Though their jungle hostess had stolen his heart, it was the heiress who had captured his reporter's curiosity. Mysterious, dangerous, and possibly deadly was how he had originally written of her. With the few questions she had been forced to answer for him, he had pieced together that her past could undoubtedly be the best story ever told--besides his journals of their plateau life, of course. But Marguerite rarely, if ever, spoke of her past, only elaborating when the situation demanded it. 

Thoughts of the wily woman automatically led Ned to thoughts of the tree house's other female occupant--as did nearly his every train of thought he admitted, blushing. Unlike Marguerite, Veronica's independence was unhindered by her generosity, kindness, and innate honor, and sincerity shone in everything she did. She was the most beautiful, wonderful, amazing woman he'd ever met. Gladys in all her English finery and impeccable etiquette couldn't hold a candle to Veronica's simple elegance and inner strength. The rumbling of the elevator heralded the arrival of the woman of his dreams, interrupting his reverie. 

Stepping out of the elevator, Veronica was greeted by a grinning Ned Malone. "Sorry, Veronica. You lost," he told her, handing over a plate of food and glass of water. "Sure hope Marguerite's not a sore loser…for your sake," he teased. 

Silenced by the jungle girl's irritated glare, Ned grabbed his precious journals and retired to his room, worried as always that his writing would suffer the wrath of a woman. Veronica's smiled wryly at Ned's reaction. After Marguerite had ripped a few pages and edited his prized journals, Ned had been overly protective of his work--and overly suspicious of what either woman would do in a temper.

After steeling herself to face a disgruntled--and thus possibly dangerous--Marguerite, Veronica was startled to find the heiress fast asleep, the girl's head tucked comfortably beneath her arm. She shook her head ruefully. "Should have known you'd never cease to surprise me," the blonde whispered, placing the tray on the bedside table. Veronica paused at the door, turning to take one last glance at the unusual sight. A faint smile graced her lips before her mouth opened in shock.

"Impossible," she breathed, keen eyes surveying the scene again. A hand touched her shoulder and she jumped.

"Easy, it's just me," Ned smiled down at her. "Afraid to face our international jewel thief?" At her uncharacteristic reticence, he eased around her to look her in the eyes. "What is it?"

"You don't think," Veronica began hesitantly, then shook her head. "Never mind. It's impossible. Forget it." She turned away from him, leaving the poor man looking about in complete bewilderment as he noted the sleeping Marguerite. Finally succumbing to the fact he would never understand women, Ned Malone sighed and returned to his room. 

Veronica heard his footsteps as he padded down to his room. He couldn't have seen, as she had, the striking resemblance between woman and child. Despite Marguerite's dark locks and the girl's fair ones, the two were near-images of each other. Faces in the repose adopted only in sleep, the similarities had become glaring--shape of the face, set of the eyes, delicacy of bone. 

__

I won't believe it. It can't be true. It's impossible. Shaking her head, she slipped into bed. It was impossible, utter nonsense. She had simply been imagining things…..or so she told herself. And yet, sleep was a long time in coming, and even then it offered only dark questions.

***

Roxton awoke the next morning to a wonderful smell emanating from the upper level of the tree house. _Veronica must have woken early to give us all a good breakfast_, he thought cheerily. A kind act, typical of the jungle-born blonde. Dressing quickly in eager anticipation of a savory meal, the hunter strolled over to the kitchen. "Smells great, Veronica," he commented as he snatched a fruit from the table. 

Looking up, he noted two pairs of eyes fixed upon him--green amused, blue confused. The fair-haired one spoke first. "Veronica? Oh, Miss Layton is sleeping still, I believe. But Marguerite here offered to help me with breakfast," the girl told him to his astonishment.

"Marguerite? Cook?" Roxton's tone said it all. 

"Is there a reason she shouldn't cook?" His amused chuckle quickly became full-blown laughter at the child's confusion and Marguerite's annoyance.

"I'm John Roxton, by the way," he said, offering the girl his hand once he'd controlled his laughter. 

"I know. Marguerite's told me all about you, Lord Roxton." His startled glance at the brunette seemed to amuse both ladies. "I'd like to thank you for saving my life yesterday," she continued.

"All in a day's work," he replied jovially. "I do hope that Marguerite's mentioned a few of my better traits, though."

"Which ones?" Marguerite's quick repartee seemed to amuse the girl even more.

It was then that Veronica decided to make her appearance. "Nice of you to cook, R--" she began, stopping abruptly at the sight of Marguerite. "Oh…Marguerite…nice of you to cook breakfast." The girl's slight smile amused Veronica despite her precarious situation with the heiress. 

"I only did so because she wanted to," Marguerite replied crossly, pointing at the girl. "And I'm not going to do so again if all you both can do is stand and gape." Roxton and Veronica exchanged an amused glance as Marguerite resolutely returned to slicing fruit. 

"Guess we'll set the table then, and leave the cooking to you ladies," Roxton said with a smile. Quickly finishing his self-appointed task, Roxton glanced back over at the kitchen. Marguerite, having finished with the fruits, was helping the girl grill pancakes on the "stove". The sight of them almost made him burst into laughter again. The girl was carefully checking the pancakes nearly every five seconds, while Marguerite was trying to help as much as possible while staying as far from it as she could. 

Ned Malone strode in next, though at the emphatic gestures from the others made no comment on the current chefs. Marguerite's suspicious glare seemed to reinforce his resolve in controlling his usually cheeky tongue. Challenger chose to make his appearance just as Marguerite and the girl brought out breakfast--a heaping stack of steaming pancakes and a delicious-looking fruit salad. The chefs settled the platters on the table to the utter astonishment and pleasure of their clientele.

"Is…is something wrong?" the girl asked hesitantly when no one moved, her voice no more than a whisper. "Marguerite said that you all liked pancakes and we thought that you might like some. She said that they're your favorite, Lord Roxton, and that you would be hungry after yesterday."

"She said that, did she?" Roxton asked, raising an eyebrow at Marguerite. 

"Yes, that. And I mentioned your lack of manners as well," the heiress shot back.

"They look wonderful," Veronica said appreciatively, quickly forestalling another argument between the two. 

"That they do, my girl," Challenger agreed, serving himself a few. Ned had beaten them to it and had already finished half a pancake.

"Mmm…delicious," the reporter commented, before burying his face in more food. Conversation was suspended for a bit as the explorers devoured helping after helping, pausing only to commend the chefs. Both Marguerite and the girl's cheeks were flushed with pleasure from the unexpected praise.

Finally, when he could find no more food, Challenger stood with a groan. "That's more than I've eaten in years, and more than I should eat for years." The others laughed and he smiled. "I'll clean up here, since you ladies were kind enough to cook such a wonderful meal."

"I'll help," Ned offered.

"Well, Veronica and I should be off if we're to get anything today. I think we'll head over to where we found the girl and see if we can find any sign of her family or tribe," Roxton said. 

"I guess that leaves you and I with the housework," Marguerite told the girl, who remained beside her. Roxton was surprised to discover that the child hadn't left Marguerite's side all morning. He noted the strange look Veronica's face and resolved to ask her about it later. Grabbing his rifle and his hat, he saluted Marguerite jauntily with his hat before joining Veronica in the elevator. A raised eyebrow and tiny smile was his only reply before he was swept out of sight.

***

Challenger had observed the morning's events with a barely concealed amusement. Their new houseguest had taken to following Marguerite about like a lost puppy, and the heiress obviously had no inkling of how to deal with the situation. Oh, she'd tried to foist the girl off on both men, but to no avail. The child always managed to find her way back to Marguerite. Ned had left shortly after lunch to chop firewood in an effort to conceal his mirth. Just because Marguerite had managed to still her razor-sharp tongue with the child, didn't mean she refrained from slashing poor Ned down when he'd unwisely neglected to conceal his laughter.

The girl. Challenger frowned. She was European, most likely British, he asserted. That much could easily be derived from her appearance and speech. Beyond that however, the scientist was at a loss. He had told them earlier that she couldn't be from an expedition, yet she wasn't from any tribe they'd encountered. Veronica said that she hadn't recognized the symbol on the necklace, but perhaps the Assai and the Zanga would know more. On one note, at least, they could be thankful—the child's injuries had practically healed overnight. Challenger was slightly unsettled by this anomaly, but attributed it to the healing powers of youth.

Looking up, he saw Marguerite heading towards him, her little blonde shadow still in tow. Until they found the child's family, he would enjoy watching Marguerite interact with her. The sight of the former thief forced to care for a thirteen-year-old girl was certainly entertaining, but the fact that Marguerite was actually good with the girl had been a real surprise. Even more unusual was that he couldn't detect any irritation in her demeanor, only amused resignation. "Challenger, we're going down to the far pond to do the laundry and go for a swim. We'll be back before dinner."

"Are you sure that's safe? What about her injuries? We don't want her to exert herself."

"We'll be fine. As you said, the wounds were superficial, and they're nearly healed. The walk is short, and I can handle myself." At his skeptical look, she continued, "I'll be careful. Don't worry about it. Isn't there some crazy experiment that demands your attention?"

"Oh, yes, yes of course. Go on." With that, the professor turned back to his lab, already in another world. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she turned to her shadow.

"Well, best be off before he blows up yet another section of the roof. Come along." Grabbing her basket of laundry, rifle, and hat, Marguerite strode into the elevator. The girl followed not a step behind, carrying another heaping pile of dirty laundry. 

The walk was short and pleasant. Though farther than where they usually did laundry, Marguerite had thought the girl might enjoy the flower-filled meadow near the pond. Marguerite halted for a moment on the path in disbelief. She, Marguerite Krux, thief, seductress, and assassin--creature of the underworld--was going out of her way to take a girl to see some flowers. _What has gotten into me?_

"Marguerite?" a soft voice interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see that the girl had dropped her basket, face pale. "Can we stop for a minute, please? I wouldn't ask, but I..…I…..things are spinning," she finished wryly.

"Of course. It's not your fault. I should've been paying more attention. Here, come sit down." Silently Marguerite wondered at her own actions. She hadn't snapped at the child once all morning, she'd done things she thought the girl would like, and now she was _apologizing_? Inwardly she laughed at herself. _If only my old "associates" could see me now_, she thought. _The fastest way to eliminate them all--let them die of shock._

"I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done," the girl said after a time. "I mean, I know I'm a hindrance and must be an annoyance, following you about. And you've been just wonderful. It's strange, you know? I can't seem to remember even my name, and yet I'm not frightened--I feel safe." She paused, deep in thought. "I _know_ that it's strange to have this kind of conversation with a complete stranger, and yet…..it's like I've known you forever and can tell you anything." The girl turned her blue eyes to Marguerite, looking up at her earnestly. "Are you sure you don't remember me, or know anything about me?"

Marguerite hated to disappoint the girl, but she couldn't lie to her. She shook her head. "I'm sorry."

The girl's face fell for a moment before she composed herself. "That's all right. I'm sure I'll remember soon. It'd be strange for you to keep calling me 'girl' all the time. Let's go check out this pond of yours."

They reached the pond soon after and spent a pleasant hour scrubbing laundry while Marguerite told stories of their plateau life to the enthralled girl. Marguerite secretly enjoyed her young companion's undivided attention. The girl, for her part, found the stories both interesting and comforting. Slowly, the explorers were becoming friends rather than possible threats.

Even while engaged in two tasks, Marguerite's sharp blue-silver eyes missed little. She had carefully selected the more humorous of their adventures, leaving out the numerous no-win situations, near-fatal wounds, and some of the more barbaric practices of the natives. Had she not been worried of frightening the girl, she would have found the dearth of tales lacking the aforementioned articles amusing. As it was, she was somewhat relieved when they ran out of dirty clothing.

"What now?" Despite her injuries and amnesia, the girl was still a bundle of energy. Marguerite had also noted that the girl's moods were nearly as fickle as her own were--though never as venomous.

"Well, I thought you might enjoy a quick swim. And your dress could use a good scrubbing as well." Marguerite gestured to the bloodstained garment. "After that, there's something I think you might like to see before we head back."

"What is it?"

"It's a surprise. Now do you want to stay out in this heat or are you going to get in the water?" To Marguerite's surprise and alarm, the girl leapt straight into the pond, disappearing beneath its waters. "..…Girl? Are you all right?" Running to the water's edge, she scanned the surface for sign of her. 

Suddenly the girl popped up in front of her, splashing water all over Marguerite as she laughed in delight. Spluttering angrily, Marguerite glared at her, eyes a stormy gray, indignant fury in her very posture. The girl grinned at her unrepentantly from the water, her blue eyes sparkling.

Marguerite couldn't help but return the smile. "So you think you're safe, do you?" With that short warning, the fight began in earnest. All wildlife fled the area as wild shrieks and shouts rang out from the clearing. The laundry got another thorough rinsing, as did every shred of clothing the two were wearing. Finally, exhausted, soaking wet, disheveled, and happier than she'd been in a long time, Marguerite collapsed on the bank. The girl sank down beside her, and her joyful laughter filling the air.

It was infectious, this jubilant herald of carefree innocence that Marguerite hadn't heard in years. She couldn't help herself--she joined in, and their laughter rang out, clear and bright. Marguerite experienced once again the exuberance of youth. She was not plagued with doubts about her past, fears for her future, but lived only in the joy of the moment.

When their laughter finally subsided, they just relaxed on the bank for a moment, silly smiles on their faces. Marguerite rose first, waterlogged clothes clinging to her slim body. "Well," she said with a small smile, "at least you got the blood off your dress."

A/N: There is a real reason for Marguerite's odd behavior. I might even figure out how to explain it.


	2. A Flower, a Name, and a Memory

Chapter Two: A Flower, a Name, and a Memory

"Nice shooting, Veronica," Roxton said, coming up from behind her. The sow lay at her feet, two clean bullet wounds in its chest.

"Thanks, Roxton." Though Ned had taught her to shoot a rifle during their first few months here, she rarely used the weapons. Recently though, they had all been practicing different fighting arts. _That odd sense of foreboding is still bothering me..._ It was that odd, just-over-your-shoulder sense of danger that had prompted these drills. She had confessed her unease to Ned, who had reluctantly suggested a round-robin type of training session. _It was only to reassure me, after Ned woke me from one too many nightmares. _So she had learned the use of firearms from Roxton, while teaching some of the hand-to-hand combat she'd learned with the Amazons. Roxton contributed some basic moves from his army days and "tavern brawls" as Marguerite deemed them. Ned and Challenger had little experience with battle outside their plateau days, but Marguerite's skills surprised them all. They'd known for some time that she was a crack shot with a gun and had a frightening skill with a whip, but her rudimentary knowledge of some of the fighting arts of the Orient had come as a shock. Especially when she'd executed a move on Roxton that threw him on his back with such force the wind was knocked out of him.

They'd all looked at the slim woman in amazement. Marguerite's smug smile had disappeared when she realized that she'd inadvertently invited questions about her past again. "Where—where'd you learn that?" Veronica asked in disbelief. _I had found it inconceivable, that our Marguerite had such a broad array of fighting skills to compliment her conning ones. Then again, Challenger mentioned that Parsifal was known for being capable of anything._

Marguerite had shrugged. "You all know that I was in Shanghai for some time. Well, one of my employer's bodyguards liked green eyes. I wasn't about to pass the opportunity up." Roxton's reaction was predictable. Another argument was on the way, but Veronica had demanded that Marguerite teach her the move on the spot. After a sketchy explanation, Marguerite simply refused to do more. When pressed, she'd simply stated that the guard had tired of teaching a "foreign devil" and had walked out. Veronica knew that it was unlikely that they'd ever see the end of Marguerite's exotic "talents".

Poor Ned. Most of the training had for his benefit, to his embarrassment, though he had made a few contributions. Challenger had left the four "youngsters" to their own devices after the first afternoon, returning to his experiments on the pretence of "age", though they all knew it was only the call of science. Marguerite was the only one besides Ned who hadn't had extensive weapons training, and Veronica wasn't even sure of that statement. Among with her other formidable skills, she had demonstrated her ability with both knives and swords. She had gone to work with Challenger soon after, declaring the exercise pointless, much to the disappointment of a certain hunter.

After Marguerite's departure, the "training" lost some of its appeal. Roxton was obviously preoccupied, and Ned finally told him to go after her. And with only the two of them, there were other activities that were more enjoyable than fighting. A blush crept upon her cheeks at the thought and she hoped Roxton didn't notice her preoccupation. Of course, the great white hunter was cleaning the beast, and she was supposed to be on watch, not dreaming of blue eyes and a dazzling smile.

Then, right on cue, she heard a furious squeal from the brush behind them.

Ned brought the axe down forcefully, his body quivering at the impact. The sweltering jungle heat had forced him to discard his shirt long ago, so he stood in only his trousers, sweat running in rivulets down his back. Tossing the last of the logs onto the stack, he snatched his shirt and headed back to the tree house for a quick shower.

Typically, he and Roxton laboured at the gruelling task together, laughing or--more frequently--griping about the ladies or Challenger's latest crazy concoction. The older man was like a brother to Ned, a well-meaning if meddling older brother. As much as he respected the lord, Roxton's lack of trust in Ned to handle dangerous situations rankled as much as it hurt. Roxton had no trouble handing decisions to Challenger or Veronica, even Marguerite, trusting them to pull the group out safely--if only to save their own skins, as in Marguerite's case. _But Neddy-boy? No, Neddy couldn't be trusted as protector, only as protected_, he thought bitterly.

He remembered his first encounters with raptors. They'd been off on a mission to save Challenger when a lone raptor had leapt out of the bush at him. When Ned had hesitated to shoot, Roxton had raised his rifle, but was unable to get a clear shot. In the end, only Marguerite's--Marguerite, of all people--good aim had saved him from his cowardice. Her contemptuous attitude had almost made him wish that she'd missed, though it would have been his demise. Veronica had been forced to stay with the poor, injured Ned to protect him, leaving the others to save Challenger themselves.

Though he had saved Veronica later that day by killing the two raptors chasing them, it had been his stupidity that had attracted them in the first place. The only good that had come of the entire episode had been the kiss Veronica had given him, for "inspiration". A dozen similar incidents flashed through his mind--usually ending with him getting knocked unconscious, as Marguerite pointed out frequently. At least Marguerite intentionally got herself into trouble. Trouble just seemed to find Ned Malone.

But that had been two years ago. Certainly, by now, he was more of an adventurer--more of a man--than he'd been when they first arrived. He'd killed a dragon, found the entrance to the Guardian's village, saved the explorers and the tree house on more than one occasion. Turning off the water, Ned straightened and shook the water from his hair. He might not be as strong as Roxton, as fierce as Veronica, as clever as Marguerite or as brilliant as Challenger, but he had his own unique talents. And if he could only prove it to them, perhaps he'd begin to believe it himself.

Drying himself roughly, Ned mentally shook his head. Such bleak thoughts on such a beautiful day! Knowing what would cheer him and blushing furiously, he grabbed his journal. Her face came to him unbidden and his pencil flew across the paper.

"Open your eyes," Marguerite commanded.

"Oh!" the girl exclaimed. Looking about in delighted amazement, she turned to the dark-haired woman beside her. "It's beautiful, Marguerite. May I?" She gestured to the meadow below them. Marguerite had chosen perfectly, it seemed. Hundreds of colourful jungle flowers filled the little clearing, and the girl was obviously enchanted. Veronica had pointed the spot out as one of her mother's favourites.

"Of course. Just don't stray too far." With permission given, the girl capered off. Marguerite watched her wander, picking whatever flower caught her fancy. Somehow, Marguerite felt inordinately pleased with the girl's reaction. _Getting soft in my old age_, she noted wryly. Knowing they needed to head back soon, she rose to call the girl back. And the world spun.

_{She stood in another flower-filled glade, but she was home, in __England__. How she knew, she didn't know, yet this clearing was in __England__. Glancing about in a sudden need to confirm her sudden knowledge, she was both frightened and relieved to note that both the flora and fauna matched that of the island. _What is the plateau throwing at me this time?_ She felt oddly detached from herself, yet at the same time she was suffused by a feeling of contentment._

_"Do we have to leave?" a plaintive young voice asked. Marguerite spun to face the speaker and her eyes widened in shock. It was the girl, and yet it wasn't. She appeared younger than Marguerite's plateau companion, perhaps seven years old. This child had the same blonde hair, the same pleading blue eyes, but instead of a soaked, torn dress she wore a beautiful costume of white, edged and embroidered in gold. A thin circlet of gold rested on her brow, and a red cloak blew gently behind her. She sighed at Marguerite's silence and began to walk towards her._

_"You know your brother will worry if we're not home soon," Marguerite heard herself say gently. _Now where did that come from_, she wondered._

_"I know," came the resigned reply. "I just wish he wouldn't worry so much. It isn't as if I could get into trouble here with you."_

_"He loves you, Elaine. He is well named, your hawk. He'll never stop looking out for you, and you're lucky to be loved so. It is a gift bestowed upon few." Her voice sounded almost wistful, and Marguerite realized with vexation that she had no control over her actions._

_"I love you," the girl declared emphatically, looking up at her. _

_"And I you, little one." Marguerite felt herself smiling warmly before the world spun again.}_

A quick glance revealed that she was on the plateau again. Looking about frantically for the girl, she was relieved to find her a few yards away, bending to pick another flower. Marguerite's eyes widened in alarm as she realized what the girl was reaching for. "ELAINE!"

The girl froze instantly; her hand half-extended towards a dark red blossom.

Marguerite was beside her in seconds, drawing her away from the plant. "You don't want to touch that particular plant. Veronica named it 'spiky-hurt' the first time she encountered it, at the age of three," she said with a laugh, trying to make the situation humorous. The subtle tension in the girl's shoulders betrayed her fright. Marguerite knew the girl's composure was precarious, though it had held up well throughout the day. It seemed that Marguerite's shout had finally brought reality crashing down.

"Veronica was out with her parents on a picnic to this very spot, when she picked the 'spiky-hurt' as a gift to her mother. When Mrs. Layton saw the blossom, she snatched it from Veronica and threw it away, but it was too late. The blood flower has tiny barbs in its stem that releases a poison. By the time they'd gotten back to the tree house, Veronica's hand was completely swollen and she had to be carried. That's when she named it 'spiky-hurt'. It was her first contribution to botany." She spoke in a kind, reassuring voice that was the explorers rarely heard. Marguerite could count the times she'd used it.

It had the desired effect, despite its disuse. The girl straightened with remarkable willpower, and offered the bouquet to Marguerite.

"For me?" The heiress was both surprised and deeply touched by the simple gesture. The girl nodded, offering them to her again. "They're wonderful. Thank you." Only years of training kept her voice steady, and Marguerite didn't trust herself to say more. A single day and this strange girl owned her heart. The revelation frightened her. To avoid further conversation, she walked back to their abandoned laundry and picked up her pile. The girl did the same, and Marguerite led them back to the trail.

Silence reigned for a few minutes before the girl spoke again. "Marguerite? When I was about to pick that flower, you called me, and I stopped. What did you say?"

Marguerite told her the truth, though she wasn't sure how she knew. "I called your name."

"You...my...how..." Again the girl collected herself. "My name. What is it?" It wasn't a request.

Shifting the laundry basket to her hip, Marguerite turned to face her. "Elaine." She of all people knew the power of a name: a word, a name, a life.

"Elaine." The girl tried it, as if teaching her tongue the sound. "Elaine," she repeated. She looked at Marguerite in amazement. "It fits. I don't know how, or why, but it fits. It's like," the girl struggled to find the words, "like the missing piece of a puzzle I'd lost. And suddenly I've found it and it fits perfectly. Thank you," she said sincerely. It was only a moment before her eyes sharpened. "Marguerite?"

"Yes?" Marguerite knew what came next. "If you were going to ask, I don't know how I know your name. Like you said, it just fits perfectly. Lucky guess, I suppose." Elaine regarded her suspiciously, then nodded, apparently satisfied with her honesty. Marguerite nearly laughed. As if a girl could read her when some of the greatest...artists in the world hadn't been able to. "We'd better get going. Plateau rule number one--if you aren't home before dark, you may need a search party. And we'll want to hang the laundry before the sun sets or the mosquitoes will eat us alive."

With that, Marguerite turned and headed down the beaten path, with young Elaine following close behind.


	3. Return to Me

Chapter Three: Return to Me

Challenger cleared up the day's experiments, the rumble of the elevator informing his of his perfect timing. He had been working on a cure for the common cold, one of his various ongoing projects. Though he enjoyed discovering and explaining the plateau's many phenomena, he never forgot his duty to mankind. Now that the explorers had found a comfortable balance with the jungle around them and no longer struggled to eke out an existence, he could devote more time to humanity's problems, rather than those of his own survival. Challenger was just careful to ensure that a solution to one of humanity's many problems would also help the expedition. Their lives weren't _that_ comfortable yet.

Marguerite and Ned's voices floated down to him from the common room and he went to join them. "Oh, hello George," Marguerite greeted him as he emerged from the lab. "Experiments go well?"

"As well as can be expected. I'm working on a cure for the common cold. We've got cough suppressants, fever reducers and such but I've been trying to combine them. Unfortunately, they appear to have some minor side effects when mixed."

"What kind of side effects?" Ned inquired curiously.

"Er...well, let's just say that it's not ready for testing anytime soon."

"Perhaps it would just be better to treat the symptoms as they occur. After all, each ailment is different, as are dosages for each person. If you mixed them then you wouldn't be able to adapt them for individuals," Marguerite objected.

"Maybe you're right, Marguerite, but it would be a useful thing to have about the house. Many can't afford to call a doctor when they fall ill, nor can they diagnose their affliction themselves. Such a drug would be priceless for folk like that."

"That's always presuming we get back to London."

"We will, Marguerite, we will. I have no doubt of that," he said, repeating the familiar litany. Surveying the room, the scientist noted the absence of Marguerite's shadow. "Where is the girl?"

"I'm in here, Professor," a voice called from the kitchen. He looked to Marguerite, who merely shrugged.

"She offered to cook dinner, saying that it was kind of fun. Can you believe that?" Challenger chuckled at the disgusted expression on the lovely heiress's face.

Ned laughed openly. "I'd better go help her. Although I have faith in her abilities after this morning's demonstration, she doesn't know where anything is." Still laughing, he headed for the kitchen.

Marguerite frowned at his back. "Better him than me," she scoffed. Challenger only smiled, knowing Marguerite's haughty heiress act was only that--an act. In retrospect however, he realized it probably was better that Ned played assistant chef than the dark-haired woman beside him. Though breakfast was wonderful this morning, one meal couldn't compensate for the rest of her calamitous cooking.

"So how did the day go? Did the girl remember anything?"

"The 'day' went well enough. Just as I told you, laundry, swim, and a dangerous plant, you know the drill."

"Dangerous plant?"

"Elaine almost picked a blood flower."

"A blood flower? I thought we had gotten rid of the blasted things. Wait a moment...'Elaine'?" Challenger looked perplexed.

"Well, I wasn't going to keep calling her 'girl' all the time," Marguerite retorted dryly.

"She's remembered? Where are her parents? Does she know a way off the plateau?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but she doesn't remember anything. I just got tired of calling her 'girl'."

Challenger sighed. "Marguerite, you can't just give people names. She's not a pet, you know."

"I didn't just 'give' her a name," she replied venomously, grey-green eyes narrowing. "Elaine _is_ her name. Would you have kept calling her 'girl', like some kind of dog? 'Here, girl'? Elaine is a perfectly nice name, and you'd better get used to using it, Challenger."

Quickly realizing his mistake, the scientist back-pedalled fast. "Of course it is. And it was considerate of you to think of it, Marguerite."

"Of course it was, George." She smiled at him and patted his shoulder fondly. He could hear her laughter as she strolled over to the kitchen. _Jessie, my love_, he thought, _I once refused to have children. Now I know why. And when we all return to __London__, I'll leave _you_ to deal with this particular "daughter."_

"Would you please find me the pepper, Mr. Malone?" the girl asked politely. Though reticent with him this morning, she had somehow overcome her apprehension in a matter of hours. She was now hovering over some raptor meat, adding pinches of this and dashes of that as it grilled over their "stove".

"Sure thing. And please, just Ned, or Malone if you must." He opened one of the cupboards and handed her the requested spice. "What are you making?"

"I'm not sure, really." At his look of alarm, she merely laughed.

"Oh, ye of little faith. Trust me," she added with a mischievous grin. Ned decided that she had been spending far too much time with Marguerite and hoped to remedy that in the future before the girl picked up more of the heiress's habits.

As if the thought had summoned her, Marguerite appeared in the kitchen doorway, smiling. "What's on the menu for tonight, Elaine?"

"I just told Mr--Ned here that I'm not really sure. You should have seen the look on his face when I told him to trust me!"

"I can imagine," Marguerite replied dryly, turning her gaze on Ned. He felt his ears go red. The woman was so damn unsettling!

Calming himself, another thought popped into his mind. "Elaine?"

"Yes?" the girl replied, not looking up from her work.

"You've remembered?" Ned paused, wondering how the girl could take the loss and recovery of her memory so calmly. "If you don't mind, I'd like to ask a few questions--"

"Always the reporter," Marguerite interrupted coolly.

"Can't help it, all part of the job."

Elaine broke in before Marguerite had a chance to continue the banter. "I'm sorry, Ned. I didn't remember my name until Marguerite called me. And it wasn't remembering so much as a...a feeling. I don't know anything else."

"That's all right. I'm sure you'll remember everything soon," he said comfortingly. Elaine smiled at his words, but Ned was preoccupied with other thoughts. _After Marguerite called her? How could Marguerite know the girl's name?_ He paused for a moment in thought. _She's been acting very strangely recently. And Veronica last night…she knew something, I can feel it._ Before he could come to any conclusions, however, Elaine was requesting a platter for the meat.

Ten minutes later, they gathered around the table, the savoury scent of the awaiting dinner tempting. Ned's mind was elsewhere, however. "Where are they? They should have been home by now. Maybe something happened to them," he suggested worriedly. Ned didn't say whom he was talking about; he didn't need to.

"Oh, I'm sure they'll be home soon. Roxton and Veronica are very capable. They probably just found more meat than they could carry home," Challenger said reasonably.

"I hate to say this, but I agree with Challenger. We should wait, just for a bit. Tramping around in the jungle after dark is safer for them than us," Marguerite concurred. Logically, Ned agreed with them, but that didn't keep him from worrying. He knew Veronica to be more than capable of handling herself in the jungle, even after dark, but his thoughts kept wandering to the dozens of times that tardiness had meant capture--or worse.

Though dinner was delicious, Ned couldn't focus on the food. After a few compliments to the chef, he and Marguerite drifted into silence. Challenger attempted to draw them into conversation, finally settling for lecturing Elaine about his theories on the plateau. After supper had been cleared away, the four of them sat at the table in silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts. At familiar rumble of the elevator Ned sighed in relief, never realizing three others released their breaths simultaneously.

A bedraggled-looking Roxton staggered in, half-carrying a pale, bloody Veronica. Ned was beside her in an instant, taking her into his arms even as Marguerite helped Roxton up. _Oh God, if anything happens to her..._ "What the hell happened?" he demanded, his voice harsh with worry.

"Boar and raptors. Veronica got the female, but we didn't realize she had a mate," Roxton told him weakly. "I was cleaning the sow when the boar came up from behind us. She barely had enough time to get a shot off. It got to her before I could...and then the blood...it attracted every bloody raptor in the area...it was all I could do to get her home..." his voice broke.

"Hush, John," Marguerite told him gently. "It wasn't your fault. Come on, we've got to get you into bed before you collapse. George, help Ned with Veronica. Elaine, the med kit's in the bottom shelf of the cabinet on the far right," she ordered crisply. Everyone burst into action.

Ned's heart twisted at the sight of Veronica, her beautiful face flecked with blood. Her right calf was bleeding profusely from a wicked-looking gash, and he could see other slashes across her back and abdomen. Her clothes were bloody shreds, and as he held her a bright crimson stain spread across his white shirt. "Oh, Veronica," he cried softly as he carried her to her room. _How could such a simple trip go so wrong? Damn this plateau! _Gently laying her down on the bed, he turned to find Challenger beside him. "What can I do?"

"I need the kit, some hot water, and some cloths." Ned dashed for the door and almost ran into Elaine, carrying the desired materials. She handed them to him and then ran down the hall.

"Where do you want them?"

"That table over there should do fine." Challenger got to work quickly, cleaning the wounds gently. Ned could scarcely breathe at the sight of her injuries. Besides the gash on her knee, there were two severe raptor slashes on her back, and Veronica sported numerous bruises and scratches as well. She moaned once before falling completely unconscious, and Ned's heart broke at the sound.

Applying antiseptic was a painful process and he could only hope that Veronica would remain unconscious for the duration of her treatment. She didn't stir when Challenger sewed the wounds shut, and Ned sent a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was listening. But when the blood kept oozing out, it was all he could do to keep from crying out. Challenger sat back heavily.

"Well? How is she?" Ned asked anxiously.

Challenger's response was hesitant. "She's lost a lot of blood, Ned."

"So? How is she, Challenger?" he demanded, gut-wrenching fear adding an edge to his voice.

"Veronica's very weak, Ned. She's lost too much blood, and that leg wound is in great danger of becoming infected. If the bleeding doesn't stop...there's...there's nothing we can do but watch and pray." Challenger could no longer keep even a pretence of professionalism and something in Ned broke as he took in the scientist's tear-streaked face.

"NO!" Ned heard a male voice scream in agony. "No! Liar!" It was only after he found himself struggling to free himself from Challenger's grasp did he realize the voice had been his. And then he screamed again, a desperate cry of denial and soul-deep anguish, before collapsing at Veronica's side, weeping as if broken, praying to any and every god, knowing that if she left him, the light of his world would go with her.

Marguerite swore her heart had stopped when she saw Roxton stumble in, Veronica in his arms. _Dammit, will this plateau never stop? God, John, please be all right._ She'd breathed a sigh of relief when it seemed he was still cognizant enough to explain the situation. He was certainly in much better shape than Veronica. _Veronica._ Far more used to handling crisis situations than the others could suspect, she'd issued orders immediately, knowing that it would galvanize them into action.

With her help, John had been able to limp to his room and on to his bed. "Clothes come off. Now."

He managed a half-smile. "So eager to undress me, Marguerite?"

"You wish." Still, she was grateful for his quip. If John could still joke, then he couldn't be too badly off. She began to unbutton his blood-soaked shirt, silently praying that the blood wasn't his. His clothes hung in tatters, the strips having been used to binding Veronica's wounds, and blood was everywhere, making it near impossible to discern if he was wounded or not. Gently peeling it away, she gasped in horror. Three oozing lacerations striped his chest while smaller gashes bloodied his side, clear evidence of the raptors' cruelty. "Oh, John," she whispered, holding back tears. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Veronica." John hissed in pain and Marguerite closed her eyes for a moment. _I won't cry. I won't. Be strong, Marguerite. John needs you now. John needs you._ She opened her eyes and managed a weak smile for him.

"Not very good a protector if you can't even keep yourself in one piece, Roxton," she told him, her voice breaking at the last. Marguerite opened her mouth to call Challenger, but was interrupted.

"He can't, Marguerite. Miss Layton--she needs him more than Lord Roxton does." Elaine had slipped into the room, carrying the extra bandages and medicines.

"What? Get him in here now, dammit!"

"No, Marguerite." At the sound of John's voice, she spun and knelt beside him.

Marguerite tried to get him to relax, but the stubborn man refused. "Hush, John, save your strength."

"No...Challenger must see to Veronica. I'll be fine. Trust me, Marguerite."

"Always, John." She could no longer keep the tears from her eyes or voice. "Always."

"Drink this, Lord Roxton." Elaine held a strange brew to his lips. How she had appeared unnoticed again Marguerite didn't know, but considering her state it was hardly surprising. She doubted she'd notice the devil's arrival at this point.

"What is that?"

"It will make him sleep. There's no painkiller strong enough to allow us to work. He'll hinder us, otherwise."

"'Us'?"

"If those wounds aren't treated, he could bleed to death." Elaine's voice was matter-of-fact, but her eyes showed the pain Marguerite's sharp words were causing.

"She's right, Marguerite. Do what you need to. I trust you," John whispered, ending any arguments from her.

"How many times do I need to tell you to be quiet, John? You just can't listen to a woman, can you?"

"Only you, love." Marguerite knew he kept the banter up as her bulwark against panic. _Roxton, always the protector._ She nodded and took the cup from Elaine.

"Did Challenger make this?"

"Not exactly."

"What the hell do you mean, not exactly?" Fear made Marguerite's voice shrill.

"I made it. Look, we haven't time for this. He needs medical treatment, now." Marguerite was about to give the girl a serious dressing-down when Ned's agonized cry split the air. Her head snapped up. _Oh God, not Veronica. Not Veronica!_ "She's still alive. You would know if she weren't." Marguerite heard the truth of the statement and wondered where Elaine had learned that. "Please, Marguerite, trust me."

"Trust a child with Roxton's life?"

"Marguerite," John called. "Look at me, Marguerite." Unable to defy his gentle command, she met his green-brown eyes, eyes so full of trust in her that her heart broke. "I trust her. You need to try. I won't take Challenger from Veronica. Please, Marguerite. I--" he broke off with a hiss of pain. Elaine said nothing, simply handing her the cup.

Marguerite looked at it. _Trust.__ To think, such a simple thing will either save or destroy everything._ She held the cup to his lips and he sipped it slowly. Marguerite watched him anxiously as his breath evened and he fell into a deep sleep. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you," she told Elaine sincerely.

"We're not out of the woods yet, Marguerite," Elaine reminded her gently, passing her the bottle of antiseptic and a cloth. Marguerite said nothing, cleansing the wounds as gently and quickly as possible. Finally finished, she wiped an errant tear from her face. A hand touched her shoulder, and Marguerite saw Elaine had found the needle and thread. "Do you want to or shall I?"

Forcing down the bile that rose in her throat at the thought, Marguerite took the needle. _John trusts you_. "I will." Taking a deep breath, she began stitching. Her stomach rose at the thought of what she was doing, but she continued resolutely. _John trusts you._ With Elaine's help, she sewed the wounds shut. Wiping away the excess blood with a damp cloth, she sat back on the bed, holding John's hand.

The girl quietly tidied up the room, then touched Marguerite's shoulder gently. "I'll go check on Miss Layton," Elaine whispered, but Marguerite saw only Lord John Roxton, the man who had won the dubious prize of her heart and soul through sheer perseverance, infinite patience, and--dare she believe--the truest love she would ever know. _Return to me, my love. I can't live without you, you know, and it's all your fault._

Elaine headed down the hall, heading for Veronica's room. She could hear Challenger working furiously in the lab, no doubt trying to find a miracle cure. This group of explorers touched something in her heart. She had seen instantly that they were a family--seen it in the way they teased, worked, and wept together. The Professor considered the four younger explorers his surrogate children, while they regarded him as another father figure and each other as siblings. Ned and Miss Layton were quite obviously in love, as were Lord Roxton and Marguerite.

_Marguerite._ Elaine knew that she should be frightened to death, having lost her memory and staying with strangers, yet she felt at home. _Perhaps I am home_, she thought. _After all, Marguerite knew my name when I didn't know it myself. But if I'm home, then why don't the others know me? Why would Marguerite lie to me? Why do I feel like I'm missing something important?_ But there were more important things at stake than her memory, as Ned's distressed voice reminded her.

Elaine slipped into Miss Layton's room and knelt at her beside, opposite the reporter. "Please don't leave me, Veronica," Ned begged the blonde's still form, so intent upon her face he didn't notice Elaine's presence. "Please, Veronica. I...dammit, I love you. Please don't leave me. How can I write--how can I live without you?" Ned's words grew readily less coherent. Eventually he simply hung his head, holding Veronica's hand between his as if in prayer. A light touch was all Elaine needed to ensure that he would not wake. _I'm sorry, Ned._

Placing one hand over Veronica's heart and grasping her pendant with her other hand, Elaine closed her eyes. _I don't even know what I'm doing, other than the fact that this is somehow extremely dangerous. As for why I'm risking myself, that's easier, but no less mysterious. Marguerite loves you, Miss Layton,_ she told the sleeping woman silently, _and I do this for her--and for your Ned, and for this love that binds your family together. It is the least I can do for you all._

Elaine focused her attention inward. All was silent for a moment, and then the pain and the fire blazed up from inside of her, filling her world with light. It poured into Veronica, the woman's dire need ripping Elaine's strength from her body faster than she had thought possible. In her mind's eye Elaine watched in alarm as her sapphire blue streamed through Veronica's body, pooling around her wounds and growing in intensity until the light was nearly blinding.

It was not enough. In one last, desperate effort, Elaine released the last bit of energy she had reserved, but though Veronica soaked it up instantly, there was no discernable change in her condition.

Suddenly Elaine was wracked with pain. Her eyes flew open, breaking the trance. She could just see the fading blue aura surrounding Veronica. _Forgive me, Marguerite. I failed you. And now Veronica will pay the price._ Elaine's last pain-filled thoughts echoed through her mind before the light overwhelmed her and she knew only darkness.


	4. The Price of a Life

Chapter Four: The Price of a Life

Veronica woke slowly. _I didn't know a body could hurt this much._ Everything throbbed, and her head felt as if it had shattered into a million pieces. She tried to move her hand and found she couldn't. Something--or someone--held it, and the pins-and-needles feeling was suppressed by a warmth she somehow felt to the depths of her soul. "Ned?" she croaked weakly.

A flurry of movement beside her confirmed the identity of her sentinel. "Veronica?" he asked incredulously. He met her gaze and Veronica was startled, pained, and deeply touched to see his red-rimmed eyes brimming with joyful tears. "Veronica! Thank God!" Ned's brilliant smile greeted her warmly. _I would wake up to this every morning, if it didn't hurt so much!_ "How do you feel?"

"Like a pack of raptors ran over me." Veronica managed a weak smile for him, before memory hit her like a blow. "Oh God! Roxton!" She surged forward, only to be restrained by Ned's gentle hands.

"Easy, Veronica. He's just fine. Beat you up by a full two days. He's with Marguerite--and Elaine."

The jungle girl missed his last comment. "Two days? How long have I been out?" she demanded.

"It's been four days since your hunting trip, Veronica. You gave m--us quite a scare. We thought we'd lost you," he told her, his voice breaking at the last. She turned to look him full in the face, noticing for the first time his unkempt and haggard appearance. The blue eyes of his she loved so much held shadows even in his relief and joy, and there were dark circles beneath them. _Oh, Ned! I'm so sorry._

"Well, everything's better now, isn't it?" At his hesitation, she looked at him in surprise. "Isn't it?"

"Yes, of course it is. Everything's fine, now that you are." Veronica fixed him with a calm gaze, knowing he could never lie convincingly. It was one of the many things she loved about him and it was both a blessing and a burden. As predicted, Ned looked away first.

"Tell me," she commanded gently.

"It's Elaine," he confessed.

"Elaine?"

"The girl," he told her distractedly. "We don't know what's wrong with her. I...Marguerite found her in here, on the floor, unconscious. She hasn't woken yet, and Challenger's tried everything. Marguerite simply traded one bedside for another, and Roxton...he hasn't left either of them, now that he's on his feet."

A thousand thoughts raced through Veronica's mind, but only one question popped to mind. "In here? Marguerite found her in here?"

To her surprise, Ned's face crumpled. His eyes met hers, and the guilt and self-loathing she saw in his blue eyes pained her. "Yes!" he practically shouted. "She found her in here, not three feet from me! The morning after, Marguerite went to get more salve for Roxton and stopped to check on you. And Elaine was there, lying on the floor, as she must've been all night! She was hurting while I slept on, oblivious! She could've been crying out for help, and did I hear? Did I help? No, I slept! Slept!" His self-condemnation brought tears to her eyes and she reached for his hand. He flinched at her touch, turning away.

"Ned, look at me." When he refused, she reached out for him, but she had overestimated her own strength. Her hand fell limply to her side and Veronica cursed her weakness. She had only her words to convince him of his worth. "Ned, please."

"How could I have been so careless? We should've come after you. But I stayed, chatting over dinner while you were fighting for your life! If it had been Roxton in the tree house and Marguerite out hunting, he would've been out searching the moment dusk fell. But no, a simple reporter's no substitute for the great white hunter. Roxton would have caught Elaine as she fell, but me? I didn't even notice her, until Marguerite screamed. I never should have come on this expedition. Even three years on the plateau can't make me into even half an adventurer." The words spilled out of him like water from a tipped glass, bitter and cutting.

His haunted eyes met hers and Veronica looked at him in stunned amazement. After all this time, how could he think that they didn't appreciate him, need him? _How can he say that coming to the plateau—meeting me—was a mistake?_ Though Veronica knew his words were likely meaningless, a blind strike at the world, they still pained her. "Can you really say that, Ned? That you shouldn't have come, shouldn't have met me, shouldn't have saved our lives time after time?"

"You'd all have been better off without me. Especially you, Veronica. You...you deserve better." Ned's voice, though shaky, was sincere.

"How can you say that, Ned? After all the times you've saved us? Roxton may be our 'protector,' but it's you who keep our spirits up. Your stories, your jokes, your cooking--they help us survive just as much as Roxton's shooting. We're a team, Ned, a family. Why do you think Marguerite's still here? The others could no more imagine life here without you than I can." Suddenly realizing the implications of her words, Veronica fell silent. Suddenly she could feel Ned's eyes upon her, burning in their intensity. _He's waiting for my answer to a question he hasn't asked._

Veronica steeled herself. He needed this. She needed this. It had come to a head, over three years, and the words could no longer go unsaid. "I...I don't ever want you to leave, Ned." There was so much more to say, to tell, but somehow the words wouldn't come out. And yet everything had been said. So, heart pounding, she looked up to meet Ned's gaze.

And saw her future in his eyes. "Then I won't be going anywhere," he said simply. Veronica didn't have time to think of the promise in his voice, nor the joy in his eyes, for suddenly his lips were on hers, gentle and sweet, and all thoughts fled her mind as her pain gave way to joy.

The watcher dropped the cloth door to Veronica's room and stepped back silently. Spying wasn't his intent, but he thought discretion preferable to interrupting the mood. All was well in the east wing of the tree house--if only it could be so for the west. Little Elaine lay comatose in Marguerite's bedroom, where a strangely reticent and protective Marguerite hovered.

Since he'd woken two days ago, Roxton had been stiff and sore, but whole. The same could not be said for Marguerite, who looked like a pale wraith of her once vibrant self. She had to be reminded to eat and forced to sleep. Even after he'd first woken, groggy and pained, Roxton had seen the relief and distress warring in her eyes. He'd pressed her for a reason, but Florence Nightingale that she was Marguerite had denied it and ordered him to bed. It was the haunted, pleading look in her eyes that prompted his obedience, rather than her words.

He was on his feet the next morning, though Challenger's briefing on the situation knocked the wind out of him again. Veronica gravely wounded, the girl unconscious, Ned and Marguerite sick with worry. _At least Veronica is safe now._ The jungle girl's plight had shaken him. _If she had died because of me..._ but Veronica hadn't. She was going to be fine, and she was finally in Ned's arms. _Looks like Neddy-boy finally got around to getting it straight._

The scene upon entering Marguerite's room pained him. His lady sat on her bed, gently holding the girl's hand, immobile. It was like a picture of a death room, still and dark. Roxton gently placed the tray on the bedside table. "Veronica's woken up, Marguerite. She's going to be all right."

Marguerite turned at his news, a small, sad smile gracing her lips. "Thank God," she said fervently.

"I've brought you lunch. You should eat something. You've not eaten yet today."

"Thank you, John, but I'm not feeling very hungry right now. Perhaps later," she replied softly, turning back to face Elaine.

They stayed like that for some time, Marguerite hovering over Elaine's bedside, Roxton standing protectively behind them both, before Challenger's call broke into the silence. "Roxton! I need your help."

Roxton squeezed Marguerite's shoulder gently and turned to leave. "Call me if you need anything, all right?"

But Marguerite, sitting still as a statue, didn't respond.

"Marguerite?"

"We'll be fine. Help Challenger."

Knowing there was naught he could do to help his love, Roxton did as directed.

Marguerite knew Challenger could do nothing; he was as mystified as the others as to Elaine's condition. Her heart ached. Veronica's health cheered her, but Elaine's plight plagued her every thought. The child had captured her heart. It was both amusing and terrifying that this wisp of a child could win her affections in under a week when it had taken Roxton three long years, and she still was somewhat hesitant with him. And to have little Elaine, so bright, so vibrantly full of life, dying on her bed of some unknown affliction because of her own incompetence as a guardian was worse than the guilt of all the deaths she'd caused in the Great War.

Elaine's little breaths seemed to grow shallower by the minute, her pulse weaker. The child gave one last little sigh, and then went still. For a moment, Marguerite froze; neither breath nor heartbeat escaped her. Then, at first one, then another silver droplet slid slowly down her cheek, wetting Elaine's cooling hand. Suddenly, it was a torrent Marguerite couldn't stop.

Her heart had shattered into a million fragments, long after she had sworn to herself never to allow it to happen again. The pain was sheer torture, as if a thousand daggers of ice had stabbed her. Roxton got himself into scrapes, but Marguerite had faith that he'd always get himself out of them--with her help, of course. And however much he loved her John didn't--couldn't--belong to her. Lord John Roxton could never belong to a no-name orphan. But Elaine, little Elaine had been hers, body and soul. There had been no one else there for her, after all, but Marguerite knew instinctively that the girl did--no, had loved her.

It was unbearable. Within the confines of her mind, Marguerite screamed out her grief, and felt something inside her snap. Then, from somewhere deep within her _it_ rose again...the ancient melody was no longer a protection against flames, but a bridge between souls. She sang on and on, lost in the melody, calling, beseeching, demanding, and pleading for the return of the child that a part of her had recognized the instant they had met. The room brightened with an unearthly glow, and Marguerite's hair began to blow in an unseen wind. Marguerite noticed none of this, lost in a storm of song and sorrow.

In the far recesses of her mind, she revelled in the power flowing through her. It was as if she were standing in the eye of a hurricane, bending the forces of nature to her will. Light exploded in her mind, and without warning Elaine appeared before her, dressed not in her blue gown, but in the beautiful costume Marguerite had seen her wear in a waking dream. Marguerite reached out one glowing hand to her, and the moment their fingers touched, she felt the power rushing out of her. Pain and exhaustion battered her, but she couldn't seem to draw her hand away. Suddenly, it was over, and Marguerite collapsed on the bed, barely conscious.

Roxton burst into Marguerite's room, fear making his heart race. He'd been helping Challenger and Malone tend to Veronica when he'd heard the first few notes of the song. Not truly knowing what he was doing, he rose as if in a trance, never noticing that neither Malone nor Challenger had moved at all. The haunting tune had seemed vaguely familiar, but the heart-wrenching pain in the song struck chords within his heart. He had been unable to deny its call, his body moving of its own volition until abruptly, the music stopped. Realizing instantly that he was but a few feet from Marguerite's room, a wild fear rose in him and he dashed for the door.

Marguerite lay limply next to Elaine, her dark curls spilling over the girl's blonde ones. Rushing over to the bedside, he gathered her into his arms, desperately trying to wake her. "Marguerite! Marguerite! Wake up, love! Marguerite!" Checking her pulse, he was utterly relieved to know she lived. "Marguerite!" Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him. "Thank God!"

Malone and Challenger came barging in next, drawn by Roxton's shouts. "What's wrong? Roxton? Marguerite?" Challenger demanded.

As Malone and Challenger looked on in confusion, Marguerite abruptly freed herself from Roxton's grasp and turned to face the girl, shouting at her in a language they didn't recognize.

Roxton instantly understood what had happened and looked down at Marguerite in alarm. Worried by Marguerite's denial of the situation, he tried to draw her away from the bedside, but she fought him off in a frenzy. Gently shaking the girl's shoulder, she called to her again in a language the hunter found vaguely familiar.

His heart aching for her, Roxton gathered her into his arms again despite her struggles. "It's all right, Marguerite, it's all right."

"Let me go! I--" Marguerite's protestations were abruptly cut off at the sound of movement from the bed.

"Marguerite!" a young voice called. The lady whirled about and assisted the girl weakly trying to sit up. The men stood about, astonished and confused. Marguerite, overcome by emotion, kissed the child's forehead gently.

"Welcome back, little one," Marguerite said softly, trying to settle the girl back onto the bed.

But Elaine would not be deterred. The girl looked straight at Marguerite, and Roxton noted to his surprise that her eyes were now _green_. "Marguerite! I remember everything now. I am to ask you to come with me. We need you in Avalon, my lady," Elaine told Marguerite urgently, her voice no more than a whisper.


	5. Gavin

Chapter Five: Gavin

It was another twenty minutes before anyone was calm enough to demand an explanation. Veronica's calls had sent Ned running, only to have him appear a few minutes later with the jungle girl in his arms. The commotion had worried her, and she wanted to see for herself that everything was well. While the ladies settled themselves on Marguerite's bed--conveniently the largest in the tree house--Challenger had gone out for medical supplies, wanting to ensure that Elaine's recovery was genuine, if nothing short of miraculous. Roxton was forced to initiate some of the techniques he'd learned in Tibet to slow his racing heart. But finally the tree house family had gathered about Marguerite's bed, patiently waiting for some logical explanation.

But as they all well knew, the plateau had few "logical" explanations, and Roxton, standing behind Marguerite, was rarely patient.

"Care to explain this, Marguerite?"

"No, Lord Roxton, I should be the one to explain," Elaine said, half-apologetic. The explorers turned to the girl, surprised. She had said nothing amidst the chaos surrounding her recovery after her initial comment to Marguerite, and they had nearly forgotten about her altogether. "Because thanks to Marguerite, I remember everything."

Elaine glanced nervously at the heiress before continuing. "My name is Elaine Conway. My brother Gavin and I were searching for our cousin when ape-men attacked our camp. Gavin and I were separated somehow during the fighting. I'd been trying to find my way back when I ran into the raptors, and then Marguerite and Lord Roxton found me." She paused for a moment, as if to say more, but fell silent.

"How did you come to the plateau?" Challenger asked eagerly. "Do you know of a way off?"

"I'm sorry Professor, but my home is not far from here."

"I've never seen any tribe with the clothes or the necklace you wear," Veronica noted curiously, as Elaine fingered her pendant. A beautifully-wrought circular design of silver, the pendant had two tiny emeralds embedded in the centre. On the other side of the bed, Marguerite started, as if suddenly remembering something she'd forgotten.

"Nor have we ever encountered any native with such a distinctively British accent," Challenger muttered quietly, his disappointment obvious. Veronica shifted uneasily. Something about the girl's story bothered her, and Challenger's comment hadn't helped.

"Who is your cousin?" Ned inquired next. "Maybe we could help you find her."

Elaine paused for a moment. "I don't think you could help me, Ned, but thank you."

"Now, young lady, we may not be detectives, but I'm sure we could be of some service. So just who is this cousin of yours that you're searching for and where exactly are you from? If we're to return you to your brother, we'll need to know where to find him," Roxton told her, looking straight at the girl.

Lord John Roxton was an imposing figure, but a Lord Roxton who had just found his lady in a dead faint was downright frightening--even if he wasn't trying to be. Surprisingly, Elaine met his gaze squarely for some time, but then glanced quickly at Marguerite on her left and Veronica on her right. "I...Marguerite...I..." Elaine floundered for a moment, only to be saved by a shout from below the tree house.

"Elaine! Are you up there? Elaine!"

"Gavin?" Elaine exclaimed. "Is that you? I'm up here, Gavin!"

"Guess we'd better greet the new arrival, then," Roxton said jauntily, his tone belying the wariness in his gaze.

The men left the room, and soon the ladies heard the familiar squeaking of the elevator. Minutes later, a tall young man in a dark green cloak dashed into the room and Marguerite moved to the foot the bed to allow him access to his sister. For without a doubt, they were truly brother and sister. Though the stranger's hair was sun-streaked amber to Elaine's pure gold, the attitude he adopted upon finding his sister was that of every older sibling.

"Elaine! What in the world were you thinking? Are you all right? Do you have any idea of all the worry you've caused? I've been looking for you everywhere! Why didn't you call me?" he demanded before hugging her fiercely, then drawing back worriedly. "Are you injured? What happened? There were two surges here that resonated over the whole damn plateau!"

"I'm fine." At his look of reproach and disbelief, she continued earnestly. "Really, I am. And I'm sorry too, but it wasn't my fault." Her brother continued to regard her with a mixture of consternation, worry, and love that Veronica found amusing. Roxton and Marguerite often had similar expressions on their faces when reprimanding each other. And, like Marguerite, Elaine was far from contrite. "Well, you could be gracious at least. It's thanks to these kind people here that I'm still in one piece, and you still haven't introduced yourself."

"As my sister so _kindly_ pointed out, I'm afraid I've neglected certain formalities in my haste," the young man said, looking up at Challenger and Ned. "My name is Gavin Conway, and I'm forever grateful to you all for watching over my sister."

"It was no trouble at all. Lord John Roxton," Roxton introduced himself, offering the young man his hand. Roxton's immediate approval of the new acquaintance both surprised and didn't surprise Veronica--on one hand, Gavin Conway was a stranger to be suspect until they knew more of him, but on the other, he seemed a capable young man genuinely concerned for the safety of his younger sister, and that went a long way where Roxton was concerned.

"It's an honour, Lord Roxton. Your reputation precedes you." Veronica exchanged a confused glance with Marguerite at that, but Roxton continued the introductions smoothly.

"This is Professor George Challenger of the London Zoological Society and Mr. Edward Malone, our resident journalist." Challenger nodded at the stranger, his face thoughtful. Ned was more accepting; Conway appeared only slightly his junior and the two shared the camaraderie that affects all males of that age. "Veronica Layton, owner of this tree house." Conway started at that introduction and turned to face Veronica. His blue eyes lit and he smiled warmly at her. Veronica smiled in reply, though she could see Ned bristling behind Conway. The newcomer was a very handsome man, but he wasn't her Ned, and somehow Conway' smile felt...brotherly. _Which is a refreshing change from all these looks I've gotten since adopting my "jungle costume," _Veronica thought, amused. Even so, she didn't mind putting Ned a bit on edge--she had learned the value of that from Marguerite.

"And this is--"

"Marguerite Krux," Marguerite interrupted, stepping forward. "It's good to meet you, Gaw--Mr. Conway." She appeared startled by her uncharacteristic slip of the tongue, yet Gavin appeared far more unsettled by the heiress. Eyes wide, he bowed deeply before her and kissed her hand.

"My lady," Gavin addressed her respectfully. "It is both an honour and a personal pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please, just 'Gavin' will do. 'Mr. Conway' is far too formal for me, and 'Conway' will bring my sister running as well."

An uneasy silence fell as thoughts raced. Elaine broke the tension by calling to her brother. "Did you bring her--my things?"

"Of course." Gavin returned to the bedside, giving the others time to organize their thoughts. Veronica could see evidence of Marguerite's agitation only in Roxton's stance. Although the heiress remained as inscrutable as ever, the hunter had taken her into his arms protectively, and his confusion and unease were easily read on his face. Veronica watched the siblings cautiously as Gavin reached into his pack and pulled out a blue silk wrapped package, handing it gently to Elaine before undoing the clasp of the large green cloak he'd been wearing and rolling the garment into his pack.

Veronica gasped in surprise, stricken. Roxton voiced her thoughts immediately, his voice harsh. "That's it. I think we deserve some answers now. Veronica says she's never heard of a tribe with members matching your description, and you certainly didn't acquire that weapon on the plateau. I want to hear the truth. All of it," Roxton commanded. For though Gavin Conway was armed with a sword on his left hip, there was a gun on his right.

To his credit, Gavin seemed startled by the explorers' suspicion. He looked over at his sister, who shook her head in response to his questioning gaze. "They don't know, Gavin," she told him softly. "I told them how we were separated, but they don't know..._she_ doesn't know the story. Any of it."

"Exactly," Marguerite interrupted sarcastically. "So, care to remedy your slight oversight?" Both siblings stared at her, and Marguerite hesitated for a moment, but pressed on. "The truth, if you please?" The two exchanged another look, and then Gavin turned to Marguerite.

"It is a long story in which we play but a little part, and to tell the whole tale will take some time. I ask for your patience, but I swear to you that it is the truth--as best we know, anyway. Please allow me to finish the tale before you judge us. It's...it's somewhat complicated."

"How many times have I heard that before?" Marguerite muttered under her breath, silenced by Roxton's admonishing glance. Gavin seated himself next to his sister, took a deep breath, and began to speak.


	6. Avalon's Lost Children

Chapter Six: Avalon's Lost Children

Gavin spoke clearly, though his voice carried a strange quality that Ned couldn't quite identify. "The story begins with three childhood friends. The eldest, Danielle, was the leader. She was spirited, adventurous, and had a sharp mind matched only by her tongue." Ned couldn't help glancing over at Marguerite, but as Gavin's voice dropped slightly in volume, the explorers gathered closer to the bed. "Her younger sister--my mother Vivian--was Danielle's polar opposite; quiet and gentle, her utter lack of a temper compensated for her sister's fiery one. Oddly enough, they were devoted to each other. Aunt Danielle was always watchful for Mother, who tended to bring stray animals home to doctor, regardless of how dangerous they were. Mother, for her part, was the only one who could calm Danielle's temper. Their distant cousin Abigail was between them both in age and temperament, and the three spent their childhood roaming about the woods around their home together."

"A week after my mother's eighteenth birthday, the trio left for London. Danielle had been dying to leave their backwoods home for the city for ages and their parents agreed on the condition that Abigail accompany them as well. Persuading Abigail was nearly as much a trial as persuading their parents, as she had no desire to leave her home. Eventually, Abigail succumbed to Danielle's enthusiasm and agreed to go.

"They hadn't intended it when they left, but five years later all three had married in London. Abigail and her husband returned to her childhood home after a small wedding, but the London papers had a field day with the wedding of Lord Henry Montclair to Danielle Avilion. A few years later my parents were married. My father, James Conway, had been a good friend of Lord Montclair for years. After the wedding, the three couples parted company.

"They weren't apart for long, though. My parents, Abigail, and her husband returned to England in time for the birth of the Montclairs' first child--a beautiful baby girl. Henry and Danielle adored their little daughter, and between her parents, aunts, uncles, and paternal grandmother, the baby wasn't put down for a week. Danielle's beautiful voice could be heard every night, singing her daughter an ancient lullaby of her home. And although he was often busy with the estate, Henry always found time to play with the baby.

"And they were very happy, for a time. Abigail and her husband decided to remain in England for a few years. They all got together at least once a month, even if just to talk over tea. Then, one summer, it all ended.

"Abigail had returned home to visit her mother while my parents went to Java on vacation, both returning in the early fall. But disaster had struck while they were away." Gavin paused for a moment, his face pained. 

Elaine quietly picked up the tale. "The Montclairs had been murdered while they were away. Lady Marie Montclair, Henry's mother, was the only one left. Henry and Danielle's bodies had been found near the river and their young daughter was missing. The police were useless. They could find no leads, and three months later they closed the case.

"Lady Marie was beside herself. Strangely, though, she refused to believe that her granddaughter was dead, though both the police and Scotland Yard could find no sign of the child. It was as if the girl had vanished into thin air. Mother didn't know what to do. She refused to believe that the child had died, but didn't know where to turn. It was Father who began the search that would consume the rest of their lives, and those of their children." It was Elaine's turn to pause, unable to continue. Gavin took her hand gently, and Ned pitied them. It was obviously a tale that pained them greatly, and though he wasn't as good as Marguerite at discerning lies, the story rang true. Ned glanced around the room, surprised that none of the more argumentative and impatient explorers had said a single word yet. Challenger was dispassionately intrigued and Roxton polite, but the ladies' reactions surprised him. Veronica was compassionate, of course, but he hadn't expected her to be so deeply effected by the tale. But Marguerite's face was very pale, and her eyes never left Elaine's face.

"They deserve the truth, remember?" Gavin reminded his sister softly, forcing Ned's attention back to the bedside. "Father decided that they should look for the missing Montclair heir themselves," he continued. "So, for the next four years, they searched the width and breadth of England for the girl. Abigail was as devastated as Mother and she and her husband helped as much as they could. But as the days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, and the months to years, they began to lose hope.

"For a long time Abigail's husband had hoped to mount a scientific expedition to their home, and he'd finally gotten the funding to do so. So in the spring of the next year, the two of them returned home with an expedition. Our parents remained in England, continuing the search and stopping at the Montclair manor frequently to check on Lady Marie.

"But when Mother received news that Abigail was pregnant, she and Father left to attend. In due time, Abigail gave birth to a baby daughter, and the child's laughter seemed to ease some of the grief. Two years later, they returned to visit Abigail again, but this time, it was Mother who was pregnant, and it was then that I was born.

"We stayed with Abigail and her family for a few months before leaving for England again. I was to be the start of a new life for them, a life free of ghosts. Lady Marie was like another grandmother to me, and my parents hoped for a bright future. But shortly after my fourth birthday the Montclairs' solicitor Paul Garner called.

"He'd been clearing out the old accounts and when he'd discovered that a special trust fund of Henry's had been depleted recently. Surprisingly, the money had been used to pay for a private girls' boarding school in Avebury. Apparently Garner had established the fund on a whim of Henry's years ago, though at the time he had wondered about his employer's sanity.

"You see, Danielle had explained to Henry, as my mother had to my father, that our family had a few…hereditary enemies. Henry knew the dangers he faced in marrying Danielle and was willing to risk his own safety, but not his daughter's. So he devised an elaborate scheme to ensure her safety. It was pure genius. The girl would receive the finest education while retaining utter anonymity until she reached her majority. Henry had set up accounts with sixteen of the world's most trusted banks and law firms, each holding three letters. Every month he wrote to Garner to prevent him from sending the first three out. The letters were sent a month after Henry's death by Garner's secretary--to a convent school in Avebury, to another in London, and to a law firm in Austria.

"All Garner knew at the time was that the fund had been depleted. He'd wanted to close the other accounts but it was impossible. Henry had created the entire system himself, and only he could locate all the banks and close the accounts, as they were in his daughter's name.

"My parents went to Avebury to investigate the school. Apparently a young girl had been dropped on the convent steps, but a respectable firm had paid for her care. The nuns hadn't questioned the case, since many families chose to send their children to boarding schools. Only this child had no visitors, no letters, and no name. They had assumed that the child was an orphan with an unknown benefactor. The child had been moved to a London boarding school five years ago when another letter arrived from a different firm. They had packed the child up and sent her away without a second thought. A young sister who had cared for the child was able to help my parents a bit more. 

"The sister told the story of a young girl, bright, beautiful, and utterly alone. A dark-haired child with eyes of the most unusual color--somewhere between blue, green, and silver. Witches' eyes, the Mother Superior had once remarked. Unfortunately one of the more vicious of the students had overheard the comment, and the young girl was forever ostracized by her classmates.

"My parents were stunned. It was a near-perfect description of the Montclairs' missing heir, with one slight exception. None of the sisters could remember seeing the talisman that Henry and Danielle had given their daughter on her second birthday. Mother and Father didn't know what to think. They had no way of verifying the child's identity, nor did they want to trace a girl around the world only to disabuse false hopes.

"So they searched around Avebury, trying to find who had abandoned the girl there all those years ago. Six months of searching led them to the door of Mark Landon. It seems that Landon's aging father Michael had kept a small orphaned girl with him for a few years. When Michael died, Mark had taken the girl to the convent, leaving her on the steps with a note that Michael had saved. Reading Michael's diary proved what my parents had only begun to hope--that Henry and Danielle's daughter had miraculously survived the attack that killed her parents and had entered the protection system that her father had devised for her.

"For the next four years my parents chased the girl from school to school, country to country. They had just traced her back to yet another London boarding school when there were some complications. The assassins had struck again, this time at Abigail's family. Her mother and husband were dead within six months of each other. My parents left me with Lady Marie while they helped Abigail rebuild." He paused for a moment. "And when they returned my mother had a problem of her own," Gavin said, his voice lightening as he grinned at Elaine cheekily.

She swatted playfully at his head, resolutely ignoring the devastated expressions of the explorers. Ned quickly encompassed the scene in the room, then did as Elaine and Gavin were doing and focused on the story. Even he realized the emotional toll the tale was taking on the two, and wondered why they felt it necessary to divulge their life stories. But the tale was far too interesting to interrupt, and so fantastic that he was reminded of his childhood adventure novels. "What my brother means to say is that my mother was about to give birth--to me. My father tried to get her to a London hospital, but they couldn't make it in time. I was born in Avebury." Elaine didn't look at anyone except her brother, as if they were telling the story to each other.

Gavin took over for her again. "Unfortunately, new my sister was a rather scrawny little thing and we were forced to stay in the hospital for a few months. By the time Mother and Elaine were cleared to leave, our cousin had left the country. The girls at the school guessed she had run away to Paris.

"My parents and Lady Marie were devastated. Even so, we spent the next five years in Paris, Monte Carlo, and Austria following the gossip columns before finally traveling to Shanghai. Mother hadn't told Father about a second objective there. She believed a man called Xan held the second half of some mythological artifact that would help find her niece. Mother knew where the second half was located and planned to get Xan's half. 

"But the plan went horribly awry. My mother was killed in Shanghai and we were forced to flee the country. I was thirteen; Elaine was five. Father was never the same after her death," he said softly, looking at Elaine alone. The girl's eyes were the same startling blue as when they had first found her, and it was she who turned to Marguerite to continue the story.

"The Great War began a few months after we returned to England. Father volunteered to fight and…died in France about six months later. We…we never did find out if…" Elaine's voice broke for the first time. Ned watched, astonished, as Marguerite took Elaine's hand and gave the girl a gentle hug. Elaine took a deep breath and swallowed her tears, looking up at Marguerite with a mix of such powerful emotions Ned couldn't identify the half of them. He couldn't see or imagine Marguerite's expression.

Suddenly compelled to finish the story, Elaine continued more quickly. "Lady Marie was kind enough to take us in, but in the eyes of the law our guardian still hadn't given her custody. Although most folk were content to leave us with Lady Marie, one inspector was annoyingly persistent. And was Mr. Harrison who introduced us to the one person who could help find out cousin, my legal guardian.

"Lady Marie didn't want us to leave, but it was our duty to her, and to our parents' last wish. It was 1916 when we met the government man who would lead us here. Apparently our cousin had been involved in some illicit activities. In exchange for his help in ensuring her freedom, he desired some information, information that we were to acquire by any means necessary. We went through France, Belgium, Austria, Germany, even Russia to achieve our missions. It wasn't until later that we discovered why the government would be so interested in sending two children on intelligence missions, even if I was…gifted.

"When the war ended, we were handed a file and given a place--Cairo, Egypt. After three months in the Middle East, we lost her trail in the middle of a jihad. Disheartened, we returned to England. And it was there, nearly a year later, that we heard of the Challenger Expedition," Elaine told the astonished explorers.

Marguerite made a small sound in the silence of the room but was unable to voice her question, so Roxton did it for her. "The girl--what was the name of the girl?"

Gavin looked over at the dark-haired woman sitting beside his sister. "Although children are normally named for their deceased relatives, my mother insisted upon naming my sister for her cousin. She said it was a 'gesture of hope' and she knew that someday, we'd all be together again."

"Her name was Elaine?" Ned heard himself ask incredulously. Now he was really confused. It was as if the entire room had been waiting for an answer, and that certainly wasn't the right one.

"No," Elaine said quietly. "My full name is Elaine Marguerite Conway. I was named for my cousin, the Lady Marguerite Marie Montclair."


	7. Last of the Lost

Chapter Seven: Last of the Lost

The room was dead silent. Even the birds outside the tree house were still, as if they too were stunned into silence. 

Elaine reached into her little satchel and pulled out a tiny bundle. Unwrapping it gently, she offered it to Marguerite, who started at the tiny object as though it would bite her. Roxton took the object from Elaine, and Veronica caught a glint of gold. A tiny heart-shaped locket rested in Roxton's large palm. 

"Aunt Danielle had an identical one made for her daughter, but without the portrait." Craning her neck, Veronica could see a tiny photograph, faded with age. In it, a dark-haired woman sat holding her young daughter, her husband with his hand resting protectively on her shoulder. Even from her awkward angle, Veronica could see the shocking resemblance between the lady and Marguerite--the same dark hair and light eyes that challenged the artist steadily. 

"You're the image of your mother," Gavin told Marguerite. She reached out a shaking hand to the locket and read the inscription with a trembling voice.

"Our…our little angel Marguerite, on her second birthday." Marguerite simply leaned back into Roxton, barely able to look at the young girl beside her. Her cousin was not as controlled. Elaine was crying openly as she threw her arms about Marguerite. The heiress--now a heiress in truth--stiffened for a moment before gently returning the gesture. Gavin rose to give them both a hug as well, and Veronica felt her own eyes water. _My parents would love this_, she thought. _And although I'm still searching for my mother, at least Marguerite has found her family_. 

Feeling a gentle hand on her shoulder, Veronica turned to look up into Ned's questioning blue eyes. She smiled up at him, touched by his concern. No, she could no longer begrudge Marguerite her happiness, only wish that she would soon find her own. Veronica watched with a slight smile as Roxton took Marguerite into his arms and they moved to sit next to Elaine. And for once, nobody objected, not even Marguerite.

Without being asked, Gavin and Elaine spent the next hour relating every tale they could remember about Danielle, Henry, and their baby girl and Marguerite drank them in eagerly. Veronica caught the two sending a few odd glances in her direction, but dismissed them. Gavin and Elaine had a copy of Marguerite's birth certificate; the original remained in England with Marguerite's grandmother, while Xan had destroyed Vivian's copy. They gave the few family photographs they carried to Marguerite outright, saying that they could always ask her for a copy later.

Apparently Marguerite still had some questions, however, and her sharp mind had never stopped working despite the fact that her world had just turned upside down. She'd taken in just enough of her wonderful new family for the moment and was prepared to handle the rest.

"What did you do during the war?" Marguerite asked Gavin. "You said that you both worked for Winn--Churchill--but that would have made Elaine, what, eight years old? How is that possible?"

"It was my idea to work for MI5. When Harrison told us that he knew someone who could help us, we jumped at the chance. And since you were--still are, as a matter of fact--Elaine's legal guardian, we had no choice but to find you or turn her over to social services. Then you got into trouble, we couldn't very well leave you there. It was only later that…" Gavin broke off for a moment.

"They already know," Marguerite said simply.

Gavin nodded, and continued, passing over the flagrant breach of national security immediately. "It was only after a year of carrying messages that we realized we'd been lied to, that your 'illicit' activities had already been sanctioned and you were more than well in control of the entire situation, to say the least. We…set an appointment with Winnie, one day. The same way you usually did," he said slyly.

Marguerite raised an elegant eyebrow. "You mean you broke into his office and said hello."

The young man grinned. "Of course, cousin. You were deep undercover in Germany at the time and there was no way to reach you. By this time, we had learned more than enough to be useful. So he agreed to deal with us. You had already reached an agreement with him. Ours was more simple. Our services for the war for the last copy of your file and your last known location."

Marguerite drew a deep breath. "He gave you my file?"

"Yes. It's at home."

"Did you read it?"

"We all did. Lady Marie, Elaine, and I. There's nothing in it to be ashamed of. Elaine was rather impressed with your résumé, to say the least." Marguerite looked at the two of them in surprise, and Elaine grinned at her shocked expression.

"What did you think we would do? Leave it in a box? We wanted to know how you had been living, and I was never good at not opening things." Veronica was surprised herself. Marguerite hadn't told _them_ about her past, leading them to wild conjecturing. She herself had come up with a few versions much like Ned's adventure stories before quickly giving herself a mental reprimand. Even so, she found it hard to believe that a thirteen-year-old girl could so easily accept what Marguerite had feared to tell even Roxton. "Did you think we would hate you for it? Lady Marie was saddened, but she was so _happy_ that you were alive. She'll be overjoyed to finally see you," Elaine added thoughtfully.

But Roxton was mulling over another thought. "Winston Churchill used children in intelligence work?" he asked incredulously. From his tone, Veronica could tell he was personally affronted by the concept.

"We didn't gather intelligence, we just delivered it. We were messengers, the connection between undercover operatives and command. The young niece and nephew, the wounded son, the youngest daughter. It was easier for children to slip across the borders," Elaine replied calmly.

"But you were a child!" Challenger, too, seemed angered by the idea. "The loss of lives in warfare is tragic, but to use children..."

"I was seventeen, old enough for the war," Gavin interrupted. "And ask Marguerite what she was like at eight. I was more useful at MI5 than I would've been in the trenches. But I needed Elaine to have it work."

"But she was your sister, man!" Challenger cried.

"I wanted to go," Elaine told them flatly. "My brother and my cousin? They were all the family I had left. And Gavin needed me."

"Why?"

"Because she has Marguerite's gifts. I don't," Gavin replied resignedly.

"Gifts?" Veronica queried. Marguerite stiffened suddenly.

Gavin didn't notice, angered by the explorers' criticism. "With languages, with silent communication, with…" He broke off as Elaine placed a hand on his arm, having noted Marguerite's pale face.

"What?" Challenger asked incredulously. "Are you telling me that Marguerite's gift for languages is _genetic_?"

"They don't know?" Elaine asked Marguerite softly.

"No," came the tight reply.

"But they knew of Parsifal…"

"Even Winnie doesn't know about those!"

"But Veronica, at least--" Gavin began.

"Veronica what?" Veronica interrupted.

"You should have some too."

If a photographer had caught them at that moment, he could have captured an incredible collage of human emotion. Challenger's stark disbelief, Roxton's suspicion warring with his faith, Ned's curiosity, Veronica's confusion, Elaine's guilt, Gavin's disquiet, and Marguerite's fear--all clearly displayed on their faces. 

"What are you saying?" Veronica asked.

Gavin looked up at her, realization dawning on his face. Veronica was frozen in place. She knew but she didn't know. All the jungle girl could do was watch, waiting for a truth that had taken her eleven years to face.

"Abigail--the Abigail I spoke of--married a scientist named Thomas Layton. They had just one child. A daughter named Veronica. Veronica Layton should have inherited her mother's gifts," he told her slowly. "You…you match her description perfectly. And you look so much like Aunt Abigail that we thought…"

Veronica stopped breathing for a moment. "You've seen my mother?"

Gavin had a small little smile on his face. "She's been waiting for you for a long time now. Are you ready to come home?"

A thousand thoughts and questions raced through Veronica's mind, but the one that came out surprised them all, including herself.

"Why didn't she come for me?" Veronica heard herself ask, her quavering voice sounding more like the abandoned eleven-year-old she had been than the woman she was now. Though embarrassed, she met Gavin's gaze squarely. His complete understanding and compassion floored her.

"Do you remember what happened after your father died?" he asked kindly. Around them, the room remained silent.

Veronica started for moment, but answered honestly. "I…I only remembered last week how he was killed. And after…all I can remember is spending the last twelve years of my life searching for my parents. Why do you ask?" She was curious, and eager to avoid the newfound memories now crowding her mind.

Gavin paused for a moment, then continued gently. "You and your mother escaped because your father bought her the time to get you both away. Yet even weeks later, after helping with his burial and placing flowers on his tombstone, you still couldn't accept what you'd seen. You were sick with grief, but you refused to accept the truth. Your mother didn't know what to do. You'd stopped eating and weren't responding to anyone around you. So, at Emrys's advice, she did what she had to.

"She sent you back here. Hid your memories of what had happened. She couldn't stay with you, but she checked in as often as she would. When you were old enough to handle the truth, you'd remember. She never wanted to leave you, but it was the only way to save your life."

Veronica looked at Challenger through watery eyes, incredulous. Her mother would not have left her alone, would she? She had been able to cope with her father's death, hadn't she?

It was Challenger, her surrogate father, who sealed her fate. "Denial is a natural stage of grief, and in time most people allow themselves to mourn and move on. Sometimes, though, after a particularly traumatic experience, people can suppress their memories. It can lead to mental instability and in the worst cases insanity or even death."

"That's not possible!"

"Ah, but it is," Roxton's low voice interrupted. "During the war, some of our boys would come back from battle with 'shell-shock', unable to sleep a minute without waking with screams. Officers had to send them home, or else they'd get themselves killed in the trenches. Some veterans can't remember entire weeks of their service."

"It's true, Veronica. You read my journals. I didn't remember what had happened to me in the trenches until I was poisoned with a hallucinogenic drug," Ned reminded her gently.

None of their words registered. "So is was my fault then? My fault that my father died, that my mother left me alone for a dozen years? It was my fault?"

Veronica couldn't piece together a coherent thought. Her mind was in chaos and her heart shattered. Her parents hadn't left her--she had forced her parents to leave her, too weak to accept the truth. She wanted to cry, to run, to scream her denial and rage and pain at the sky. 

"Veronica," Ned's soft voice interrupted her thoughts, "Veronica." She felt his arms encircle her and stiffened. "It wasn't your fault, Veronica. Your father died to save you and your mother loved you--"

She couldn't let him get any farther. "She loved me enough to leave me, is that what you meant to say?" Veronica's voice sounded bitter even to herself. "That makes it the greatest love in this family, then. Marguerite's parents got themselves murdered to get away from her, and her cousins took nearly thirty years to find her. And their parents," she laughed harshly, hysterically, "Their mother took after her sister, going to the ends of the earth just to be killed by some Chinese crime lord. Their father was smarter; he just got himself into a war and made sure he was on the front lines when the shooting started."

Her pain was in control; twelve years of hopes and fears would not allow themselves to be silent. "So, _cousin_," the blonde addressed Marguerite, "enjoying your newfound _family_?"

She had just enough time to see Marguerite's shocked and heartbroken expression before her head snapped back suddenly, cheek stinging. Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard Ned's outraged protest and Gavin's surprised exclamation before a cold voice silenced them.

"You had no right." Elaine's eyes were blue ice, and she looked far older than her years. Her presence radiated cold fury and the expression on her face was unlike any Veronica had ever seen. Her words had a deliberate, calculated edge that Veronica found intimidating. "Abigail's daughter or not, you have no right to speak ill of the dead, especially those who nearly died saving your life before you were a day old. You have no right to take out your anger at yourself on Marguerite. And do not claim us as your 'family' unless you intend to treat us with the respect that such a title warrants."

Veronica glanced over at Marguerite and was hit by a sudden pang of guilt. The heiress refused to look at her, while the hunter beside her showed only his disapproval. She spun to look at Ned, only to find him gazing at her sadly. 

Suddenly sick, she excused herself. "Please take me back to my room, Ned," she asked, her voice less authoritative that she'd desired. "I'm not feeling so well at the moment." He paused, obviously considering her request in light of her recent actions. "Please, Ned." Her voice was softer, more panicked. Wordlessly, he rose and gathered her in his arms, moving towards the door. As he ducked to clear the curtain, Veronica breathed a sigh of relief. She had felt the girl's eyes on her, furious and calculating, and combined with the sudden onslaught of guilt she was now experiencing, Veronica feared she might break down--again. And although she was now free from Elaine's righteous anger, the vivid memory of Marguerite's unguarded, anguished expression haunted her.

A/N: Yes, they will eventually get to Avalon. Yes, I'm really, truly, trying very hard to get them there. I just need more practice, I guess. Will try to do so next chapter. And please, review!


	8. Family

The following chapters are dedicated to Katrina, who asked for them. I'm sorry that they're so poorly written, but I wrote them as fast as possible and haven't edited them yet. Hope you all like them! 

Chapter Eight: Family

Last night's events had certainly been exciting, Challenger thought to himself. Marguerite's sudden weakness, Elaine's miraculous recovery, and then with the arrival of young Gavin Conway, the entire incredible history of the tree house family. That two of Marguerite's three living relatives had simply dropped on their doorstep was a strain on probability theory, but that the worldly Miss Krux--_Lady Montclair_, Challenger reminded himself--was also related their favorite jungle princess and hostess of three years defied all odds. 

After her shocking behavior, Veronica had retired early for the night. Challenger was confused and disappointed in the actions of his younger "daughter", feeling that they were beneath the noble, courageous young woman he knew and loved. He hoped that she would be able to give Marguerite a much-needed apology. He just hoped that he wasn't around to see it. Three years had taught the men to dread the frequent clashes between the strong-willed women of the house.

Marguerite, too, was acting out of character. First by taking young Elaine under her wing, and then by merely accepting her fantastic tale. It was unlike his prickly elder child to accept _any _story without solid evidence and a few sarcastic quips on the side. Marguerite has listened to everything that Elaine and her brother had said without interruption. Challenger conceded that their evidence had been foolproof, but they had presented their case without it, and even with the physical documentation of their claims, he still doubted much of their story.

Veronica had been petty and cruel, and Marguerite kind and mellow--and all in one night. Challenger felt a ridiculous urge to dash into the lab and ensure that water still boiled at 100oC or look outside and check that the sun was indeed rising in the east. 

It was.

Shaking his head at the realization that the plateau had led him to question the supremacy of scientific law once again, Challenger frowned. Elaine and Gavin Conway were still asleep, the girl curled up in Marguerite's bed, her brother camped out on the floor, diligently guarding his sister and cousin. 

It was impossible they had told the truth. Statistically, scientifically impossible—or so his mind told him. Then again, after everything they had experienced on the plateau, nearly anything was possible. And everyone else believed them. 

Veronica's reaction had been too vehement for there to have been any doubt in her mind. Marguerite seemed to trust Elaine implicitly, and so Roxton would have approved of the Conways even if they had not made a good impression upon him as well. And none of them were fools. Ned seemed the only one besides Challenger himself who hadn't expressed a verdict, yet he was naturally inclined to trust people. In light of the others' opinions, Challenger knew Ned would follow the three people whose judgement of character was usually impeccable. _And even I am forced to concede that Elaine seems a charming girl and her brother an honest young man._

Challenger continued setting breakfast on the table, only mildly surprised that no one else had risen yet. Roxton and Veronica were still recuperating, while Marguerite and her cousins had likely been up into the wee hours of the morning, continuing a more private family reunion. Which left only…

"Good morning, Challenger," Ned's voice greeted him cheerfully. The young man's innate optimism impressed Challenger once again. Though now tempered by experience, that charming quality remained an essential part of the reporter's character. "Everyone is still asleep."

"Not quite, Neddy-boy." Roxton strode into the kitchen, Gavin Conway beside him. The casual air between the two was marred by an undercurrent of tension, and after three years living in close quarters with the British lord and viewing the melodrama that was his life, Challenger understood his dilemma. There was now another man in Marguerite's life—albeit a younger one—and to win her hand, Roxton would have to win not only her heart, but also the approval of her cousins. For now that she had finally found her family, they all knew she would never leave them. _Poor Roxton, _Challenger thought sympathetically. _If it's not one thing with Marguerite, it's another._

"So, what's the agenda for today?" Ned asked.

"Our supplies are getting dangerously low. We're entirely out of meat, and it wouldn't hurt to have some fresh fruit and grains," Challenger replied. "We'll need a solid stockpile if we expect to make it back to London." Two heads whipped to face him, and Challenger bit back a groan. Had they been so preoccupied with their lady loves that they had ignored the fact they might have a way home? Slowly, all three turned to Gavin Conway, silently questioning.

The young man shook his head. "I'm sorry. I know you've been looking for a way back to England, but the way Elaine and I first entered the plateau has been closed." Challenger didn't bother to hide his disappointment.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time," Ned said humorously.

"That it isn't," Roxton agreed, resignedly amused by the plateau's seemingly endless tactics to keep them here. "In that case, gentlemen, shall we continue preparing for the next week of our stay here?"

Minutes later, all four rode the elevator down.

* * *

Elaine woke at the sound of the elevator. Marguerite was still asleep beside her, and so she crept out of bed as quietly as she could. They had talked for a long time the night before, and Elaine had enjoyed every moment of it. She had few memories of her mother, but as her legal guardian, Marguerite was the next best thing. She was clever, funny, and kind, and Elaine found her new guardian fascinating. In her opinion, Marguerite's past had only served to make her life more interesting.

She found Gavin's note pinned to his bedroll.

__

Elaine—

I know you'll be up first, so please let the others know so they won't worry. Lord Roxton and I have gone hunting. Mr. Malone and Professor Challenger have gone to gather what foodstuffs they can. We should all be back by late afternoon. I've borrowed one of Lord Roxton's rifles and left you my Webley—I know you hate it, but please carry it anyway. If the ladies wake before noon and feel up to it, the gentlemen would appreciate it if they went to the Zanga village to purchase supplies. Veronica should know what to buy. Don't cheat them, Elaine. They've helped Marguerite and Miss Layton too much for you to use them for practice. I know you're angry, but if we're to travel by tonight, Veronica needs to be in good health. Just do it before she wakes up, kitten. And stay out of trouble.

All my love, Gavin

Elaine sighed. She loved her brother dearly, but she could still resent his perpetual overprotective attitude. He—and Marguerite, now—were all she had; Gavin had often been overtaxed, raising his baby sister alone. They both knew that neither could deny the other anything. And so she found herself quietly moving down the hall to Veronica's room to honor his request, sounding much like Marguerite as she muttered angrily to herself about the audacity of men.

* * *

It had been nearly a five-hour journey now, Veronica mused, and she and Marguerite still hadn't exchanged two words to each other. _Not that there's been a lack of conversation, _she thought, glancing over at Elaine. The girl had been eager to learn everything about their lives on the plateau, and Marguerite had surprisingly humored the child. Uncomfortable though she was, Veronica still found it interesting to hear Marguerite's version of their adventures. She was even more surprised when she realized that Marguerite was consistently downplaying her roles in them, not that she'd bothered to correct the woman.

When they reached the Zanga village, it became apparent that Elaine was indeed Marguerite's cousin. It took Elaine about five words before she spoke the Zanga language as fluently as Veronica did. The natives were surprised, but they'd gotten used to stranger things, living on the plateau and near the explorers. Veronica left Marguerite and Elaine in the market and went off to find Assai, needing the advice of an old friend.

Assai was at home; Jarl out hunting with the other Zanga warriors. Somehow the entire story spilled out of Veronica and she found herself in Assai's arms, sobbing. When she had finished, Assai handed her a glass of water and sat quietly.

"I don't know what to do," Veronica told her friend softly.

"Veronica, we've been friends for years. And as your friend, I'll tell you honestly. You already know what you need to do. The longer you wait, the harder it will be. And tell your mother hello for me when you see her." The Zanga girl gave a shocked Veronica a hug before swiftly exiting the hut.

It had taken Veronica a few minutes to digest the latest piece of advice, and another hour to gather the courage to take it to heart. They had just come in sight of the tree house, and it appeared that at least one party beaten them home. Elaine dashed through the gate as soon as Veronica had it opened and called the elevator down, leaping in before it had reached the ground. Marguerite made a motion to follow, but Veronica frantically caught her elbow.

"What do you think you're doing?" Marguerite spat at the jungle girl.

Veronica was taken aback. "I…may I speak with you for a minute?"

Marguerite's expression was unreadable as she dropped her pack into the elevator and sent Elaine up with the supplies. "What is it?"

For a long moment Veronica said nothing. Marguerite's eyes narrowed and her mouth opened slightly, no doubt to deliver another scathing commentary. And then…

"I'm sorry!"

Marguerite said nothing. The heiress regarded the jungle girl enigmatically, and Veronica's heart wrenched.

"I said, I'm SORRY!!!" Veronica shouted.

"So I heard," Marguerite replied sarcastically.

Veronica had been wrong, horribly wrong, and she knew it. Taking a deep breath, she maintained control of her temper and her pride, and continued. "I was wrong to say those things about your parents, and your cousins. I was angry and bitter, and I was hurt. I know it's no excuse for what I did, but I hope that someday you can forgive me. My mother is the only family I have left now, and I've never had a sister or a cousin before. I thought of you as a sister before I knew we were related, and I hope that someday, maybe, you might think of me that way too. I'm sorry, Marguerite."

The apology took every ounce of courage that Veronica had, and unwilling to face the storm that was likely to follow it, the jungle girl turned to go.

"Wait." It was barely more than a whisper, but Veronica heard it, and paused. Slowly, fearfully, she turned around, fully prepared to face a furious Marguerite. But three years had changed both of them in more ways than they knew. 

"I accept your apology, and ask you to accept mine." Veronica couldn't believe her ears and glanced up, startled. Marguerite's face was no longer impassive, but filled with more emotions that Veronica could recognize. Her eyes were a dark blue-green, and so intent on the blonde's face that she nearly flinched. "I apologize for selling you out to Jacoba, for…for the ten thousand and one mean things I've done since then to make you furious. And if you can ask for my forgiveness over one fight after all that, I can't refuse you. I…I've never had any family, Veronica, but you know…" Marguerite gave her a small, watery smile. "If I could pick any family in the world, you'd still be my sister."

The heiress looked nervously at the jungle girl. Veronica stood in shock for a moment, then hurled herself at Marguerite, laughing, crying, and smiling at the same time. Marguerite awkwardly returned the embrace, muttering to herself. "Even if you are an annoying little sister, at that…" Naturally, Veronica only laughed harder.

A/N: I also wanted to thank everyone who reviewed, and thus persuaded me to continue with this, especially TheChosenOne, Adina, Brandy Leigh, MissMeganJane, AerinBrown, and Katrina.


	9. The Road to Avalon

Chapter Nine: The Road to Avalon

It was decided at lunch that they were to leave for Avalon at teatime. 

The men had objected immediately, of course. Roxton refused to journey through the jungle at night. Ned felt Veronica's injuries forestalled even the thought of such a trip, while Challenger was exhausted from the morning's foraging. The ladies pretended to consider their opinions for a moment, then replied.

Marguerite informed Roxton that she, Elaine, and Veronica would leave at fifteen o'clock (A/N: I know nothing about European time). Veronica promptly performed a series of flawless acrobatic maneuvers that left the expedition men speechless, letting her actions speak for themselves. Strangely, it was Elaine who appeared the weariest, quietly observing the events from her seat.

And when--not to mention how--Marguerite and Veronica had resolved their differences, Challenger didn't want to know. It was usually at least a week before the ladies spoke civilly to each other, and yet they had been firmly united against the men of the house. 

Challenger had encompassed the battlefield slowly. Marguerite and Roxton had been in one corner, Ned and Veronica in another. Between the two, Gavin Conway had towered over his sister, the two of them arguing as fiercely as the others.

"…you know the rules, Marguerite, it isn't safe--"

"--and you should know better than to give _me _orders by now, _my Lord_…"

"...but you've just recovered. Veronica, you can't just--"

"--don't tell me what I can and can't do, Ned. I've waited too long for this…"

"…Elaine, you can't possibly be well enough to travel yet. Let it wait--"

"--you know how much they need us there. We've wasted enough time already."

Seeing his troops falter, Challenger had sighed. With the foresight of an experienced commander, he acknowledged his defeat even as he watched his three soldiers surrender one by one.

After their victory, the ladies were inclined to be generous and allowed Challenger another hour's rest. Ned and Roxton agreed to travel only on the condition that they stop at dark, or as soon as Veronica or Elaine tired. Accepting their defeat with goodwill, the expedition men went to pack. Meanwhile the Conways further proved their kinship to Marguerite, beginning another argument on the balcony.

* * *

The tree house group met the siblings at the edge of the electric fence as Roxton suddenly realized how they would reach Avalon by nightfall. Tethered to a nearby tree stood a string of horses.

"Well, mount up," Gavin called.

Elaine stepped forward, offering Roxton the reins of a large stallion before presenting those of a dun mare to Veronica.

Roxton, a well-known connoisseur of horseflesh, examined his new mount meticulously. The black stallion was flawless. Strength, stamina, and beauty…the horse reminded him vaguely of the last stallion he had ridden, the king kidnapper.

"You're a beauty, my boy," he whispered, petting the stallion gently and wishing he'd brought an apple. Roxton was so engrossed that he failed to notice when Elaine walked up beside him.

"His name is Shadow. I thought you'd like him," she said pertly. Up ahead, Marguerite laughed openly at the scene. Roxton mounted with a smile, and paused to examine the company.

Challenger was seated awkwardly on a brown mare, while Ned held a decent seat upon a gelding. Marguerite smiled at him from atop a beautiful white mare in obvious pleasure, and Roxton couldn't help but smile back at her. He remembered.

****

/ Flashback \

"Did you ever have any hobbies, Marguerite? Things you did for fun, or just to get away?" Roxton asked her quietly. It was another one of those nights out on the balcony. She'd seemed in a particularly pleasant mood that night, so he'd once again attempted to get her to elucidate upon her rather unknown past. Sometimes she would give him "harmless" information about her past: old teachers, favorite dresses, books, or classes. He cherished these slivers of her past, hoping that one day she might be willing to share her past with him, so that he might share his future with her.

"Riding," she replied softly. "At one of my boarding schools, they had a stable. There was a horse there named Storm. They didn't let the girls near him; he was too wild. One of the older girls dared me to ride him once, and so I did." Marguerite smiled gently at the memory. Roxton listened, pleased that she had found one of her few happy memories to share with him. "He was wild, nearly too wild for me. Our equestrian teacher caught me out there with him and pulled me off before I could hurt myself. As punishment, I was to train him to accept riders. They thought that working with a full-grown wild stallion would cure me of my…mischievous streak, I suppose you could say." She smiled again, that rare, full, happy, beautiful, and utterly Marguerite smile that always made Roxton's heart contract painfully. "They didn't quite expect what happened next. Storm and I got along quite well, and within a week I could ride him. Strangely enough, I was the only rider he would accept. The nuns were furious and wanted to forbid me from riding, but Master Thomas, our riding instructor, felt I had earned the privilege. And so I rode Storm every day, until I left. It's one of the few things I miss about civilization. I could always escape to the countryside and go riding."

"Well, milady, this certainly isn't civilization, so all we have to do now is find you a horse."

****

/ End Flashback \

Gavin's voice snapped Roxton back to reality. "If we push hard enough, we should reach the Crossing by nightfall. I wasn't expecting five of you, but if Elaine rides with you, Lord Roxton, we should make good time. I would take her with me, but I've been pushing Mist and Elaine's Angel all week." Roxton agreed immediately, honored that the young man would trust him with his sister's safety. The hunter helped pull the girl up, placing her securely behind him.

Two hours later, Roxton was more confused than when he'd started. They had been traveling at a slow, steady gallop that was eating away at the miles. That in itself was an oddity. The Conways had acquired three horses in the time it had taken the explorers to pack, and for the life of him, Roxton couldn't figure out how. There were simply no stables within whistling distance of the tree house. Even the Zanga village was too far. And the path Gavin was leading them on! After three bloody years on the Plateau, Roxton considered himself nearly a native. He knew the lands immediately surrounding the tree house as well as Veronica, and yet he had never seen this path. From the strange looks Veronica was giving him, she didn't recognize this path either.

Roxton didn't voice his suspicions to his young passenger, but Elaine somehow recognized his disquiet anyway. "The path only appears for those who know where it is, Lord Roxton."

"How is that possible?"

He could feel the girl's smile. "It's the Plateau, isn't it? Anything is possible."

The two engaged in pleasant conversation for the remainder of the journey, as did Marguerite and Gavin. Challenger and Ned were busy keeping themselves on their mounts, while Veronica alternated between worrying and chatting with her cousins.

Just before nightfall, Gavin slowed the pace to a walk. "We're nearly there. I think it best we camp here for tonight. We'll make the Crossing in the morning."

Camp was made quickly. The ladies retired early, still recovering from injuries and strange events. The men sat around the fire, quietly watching the flames. "I'll take the first watch, if you two would like to sleep," Roxton offered.

"That's not necessary," Gavin interrupted. "Nothing will harm us here."

"What do you mean?" Challenger queried, curious.

"As I said. Nothing will harm us here. We're at the foot of the Crossing. We cannot be harmed here. Well, by the Plateau's creatures, anyway. There are no raptors, ape men, or cannibals here."

"What?" Ned was incredulous. Roxton was forced to agree with the reporter. After three years of avoiding, fighting, and running from the plateau's various carnivores, Gavin's statement seemed ridiculous. 

"This is sacred land, belonging to Avalon. They would not dare come here."

"Still, I'd feel safer with a watch," Roxton told Gavin. "No offense intended, of course."

"Of course, Lord Roxton," Gavin agreed. "A soldier and adventurer such as yourself would always be prepared. But you'll need your rest for tomorrow's crossing…please excuse me gentlemen, I must speak with my sister." 

A few minutes later, Gavin returned to the fireside. "Our guards will be here shortly." Seeing the questions on their faces, he elaborated quickly. "The Avatar warriors. Surely Veronica must have mentioned them."

"Yes, Veronica told us what little she remembered, but she was told as a child that they were just a myth." 

Gavin frowned slightly, glancing briefly at the tents. "The Avatar warriors are chosen at twelve and trained to serve Avalon. Their sole duty is to protect the bloodline, and they are to obey any order from one of the blood, provided that it does not interfere with their first priority."

Challenger and Ned were both intrigued and about to press Gavin further, but with the snap of a nearby twig, the expedition men were on their feet, rifles ready. A young man stood not ten feet away, armed but unthreatening. "Lower your weapons," Gavin told the explorers. "These are the Avatars." The men lowered the guns, and another nine warriors stepped forth from the brush. All wore light leather armor and were armed with two short swords. They bore the traditional markings of the Avatar warriors Veronica had described from her memories.

"My lord," the first warrior addressed Gavin, bowing. "My Lady Protector said that the Lady Elaine called for a guard."

"Kirin," the young man replied, acknowledging his salute. "I'd like the men to form a perimeter watch. We'll make the Crossing in the morning."

"As you wish, my lord," Kirin replied, issuing crisp orders to his men in a language the explorers didn't recognize. It sounded vaguely like an altered version Gaelic, and Roxton found it vaguely familiar. The Avatars fanned out, forming a protective circle around the group, just out of earshot as the explorers watched in surprise.

"They have been well trained and are formidable warriors, Lord Roxton. No harm will befall us here. I would suggest that we all get a good night's rest, but if you still find it necessary to post a watch, I am willing to take a shift."

The hunter paused for a moment, his mind working. He trusted Gavin, and his aristocratic upbringing flinched at the thought of insulting his host. "No, even I can see an additional guard would be superfluous," he said with a friendly smile. "Thanks for the relief watch, Gavin. I think I'll be off then, gentlemen. Good night."

Roxton slept peacefully that night, a sleeping Marguerite in his arms.


	10. The Crossing

Chapter Ten: The Crossing, Part I

A/N: First of all, my most sincere apologies to anyone reading this story. I never meant to just leave the story like this, but certain issues came up. Needless to say, I'm giving it another go, and I'd just like to thank everyone for their support.

By the time Challenger awoke in the morning, their Avatar honour guard had departed and the other men were waiting near the smouldering campfire. "Good morning, Professor," Conway called. "I took the liberty of ordering breakfast for you all," he said, gesturing to the half dozen palm fronds filled with jungle fruits, nuts, and strange dark bread before him.

"Thank you, Mr. Conway," the scientist replied, taking a seat next to Ned. The young man handed him a smaller palm frond to use as a plate, which Challenger accepted gratefully.

"Please, Professor, just Gavin, or Conway if you must."

"Very well—Gavin." Breakfast was delicious, but even Ned, the self-declared cuisine connoisseur, was obviously preoccupied. In fact, all three young men were staring out at the jungle, frowning slightly. Challenger suppressed a smile, knowing that once again his companions (and to be honest, he as well) were puzzled by man's greatest mystery—woman. Marguerite was by far the most complicated, confusing, and contradictory woman Challenger had ever met, and Veronica was so utterly unique that she was equally difficult to classify. With the two of them—and thus all of them—mixed up in some crazy If any men had reason to wonder about their women, it was the tree house men.

From the sound of Veronica's laughter, Challenger was not the only who found the situation amusing. The men's reactions as they turned around to face the blonde were quintessential: Roxton smiled wryly, Ned flushed a bit, still smiling, and Gavin grinned.

Marguerite and Elaine decided to make an appearance then as well, so the company settled down to breakfast together in a festive mood.

As always, it did not last long. Breakfast ended all too soon, and then the explorers were faced with a grave Gavin Conway.

The young man sighed. "About a mile from here is the Crossing."

"The Crossing?" Veronica frowned, and Challenger heartily concurred. He disliked it when people spoke common nouns with capital letters. In his experience, it was always a bad sign.

"There are only two ways into Avalon. Those of the bloodline or those bearing Avalon's symbol may enter from any of the portals around the Plateau—I'm sure you have seen some. They are all marked with the Trion."

Challenger nodded. "That stone gate—the one where Veronica was knocked unconscious—it was actually a portal, wasn't it?"

"A stone gate with the Trion? It's very likely. Unfortunately, the portals have become very unpredictable lately. We're not exactly sure why, but your mother has a few theories," Gavin said, nodding to Veronica. "With the portals effectively closed, that leaves the Crossing. It is the only entrance into Avalon that is open to all."

"Let me guess…we battle a dragon," Marguerite said sarcastically. Gavin's frown deepened, and the heiress's eyes widened. "You're not serious!"

"The Crossing is a test of spirit. I can tell you no more about it, except that…" Gavin broke off, shooting a quick glance at his sister, who nodded hesitantly. "We relived our worst memory." Roxton and Marguerite flinched a little. Challenger, however, was morbidly fascinated. This was his chance to observe another of the Plateau's _currently _inexplicable phenomena. "If the Crossing finds you worthy, you are transported into Avalon. If not—you will remain trapped in whatever nightmarish world it conjured until you die."

There was dead silence. Roxton looked pained and Marguerite was very, very pale. Ned and Veronica did not look much better, and Challenger himself was feeling a little ill. _Trapped in a nightmare? _"It's your choice," Gavin said softly. "If you wish to return to your tree house, I will guide you. Elaine can take the willing to the Crossing."

"I'm going," Veronica said determinedly.

"And I'm coming with you," Ned declared quickly. She smiled at him, and Ned took her hand gently. Despite the dilemma, Challenger could not resist a proud smile. _Finally._

"Lord Roxton? Marguerite?" Gavin asked gently.

Challenger glanced over at the older couple in concern. Neither had moved an inch.

"John…"

"Marguerite…"

They both laughed softly. "You first," Marguerite whispered.

He nodded in acquiescence. "I follow you, love," Roxton said simply, his heart in his eyes.

Marguerite quickly blinked back her tears, leaving her eyes suspiciously bright. "I don't know what to do, John," she admitted.

The hunter paused for a moment. "Is there any way for us to cross together?" he asked Gavin.

"It's possible," the young man admitted. Marguerite glanced sharply at him. "Ordinarily, every traveller must face the Crossing alone, but you _may_ be able to stay together. Elaine and I ended up in the same memory-trial. We can try to stay together, but in the end the Crossing will decide."

"What happened?" Ned asked curiously.

Gavin's face tightened. "We were in Germany," he said shortly. Ned restrained his reporter's curiosity admirably, recognizing the end of that discussion.

Marguerite turned to look at Roxton, uncertainty written all over her face. The hunter understood immediately. Challenger reaffirmed his opinion that Roxton was perhaps the _only_ person who could understand Marguerite. "I told you once that all your secrets would be safe with me. I mean it, Marguerite. And I'll wait as long as you need me to," he promised softly.

"Shall we go together?" she asked with a small smile.

Roxton grinned. "As you wish, my lady."

"Professor?" Gavin asked, turning to him.

"You young folk don't think you're going to leave _me_ behind, do you?" Challenger scoffed. "As if I'd miss the opportunity! This Crossing of yours sounds fascinating. I was wondering if—"

"That's enough there, George," Marguerite interrupted fondly. Indeed, all four of his children were smiling now.

His mission accomplished, Challenger allowed his shoulders to slump a bit. "Very well. It seems that scientific inquiry is not foremost on your minds. No appreciation," he grumbled, eliciting more grins.

"Come on, old boy," Roxton jested. "You can explain it all to us after we get through."

"It's this way," Gavin said, turning to lead the explorers away from the camp. As they hiked through the jungle, Challenger began to hear the distinctive sound of running water. It quickly became clear the Gavin was leading them to a waterfall—and an enormous one at that. The sound was nearly deafening by the time they topped the ridge overlooking the falls.

Gavin waved at them, pointing out a narrow, winding path that led down the cliff side. Though not as experienced as Roxton or Veronica, Challenger could appreciate the ingenuity of the trail. Hidden from sight unless you stood directly on top of it, the path was cut into the rock. The explorers traversed the terrain cautiously, knowing that a single misstep would have them hurtling down into the thundering rapids below. After an agonizing downhill climb, they stood at the end of the trail, about halfway down the cliff.

Here Challenger was truly impressed. The trail cut _behind_ the waterfall, hidden from sight by the arch of roaring waters above. Gavin pointed out the handholds carved into the rock; the path was wet and slippery. Slowly, very slowly, the explorers manoeuvred their way across the stone bridge. After a few minor, heart-stopping mishaps, they reached the other side safely.

A stone outcropping large enough to hold them all comfortably jutted out from the rock from what Challenger guessed was the centre of the falls. Carved into the cliff side was an enormous image of an ornate doorway, with an etching of Veronica's Trion nearly as large as Veronica herself in the centre. The jungle girl was staring at the symbol as if it would bite her. Examining the etching closer, Challenger saw that it was covered in runes he did not recognize. From the way Marguerite's eyes darted from rune to rune, however, it seemed that their resident linguist was having little problem with the strange symbols. As much as Challenger wanted to ask for a translation, he was having difficulty hearing his _own_ thoughts above the clamour of the water below.

The explorers watched in fascination as Marguerite stepped forward and touched one of the runes. Under her hand, the rune began to glow blue. Reaching up, she touched another of the runes, and then another, until three runes were shining brightly. Marguerite stepped back, and they all watched in amazement as blue fire ran through every line of the etching until the entire doorway was drawn in blue flame.

Elaine moved forward to place her hand in the centre of the Trion, and with a flash the rock behind it disappeared. Beckoning the explorers, Gavin made a show of taking Elaine's hand in his own, and then offered his other hand to Marguerite as Elaine stepped through the gateway. Roxton entered next, followed by Ned and Veronica, all three with expressions blending stunned disbelief, amazement, and a little fear. Not about to be left behind and eager to leave the deafening roar of the falls behind, Challenger took Veronica's hand and followed the others through the gateway into Avalon.

* * *

Roxton glanced around in amazement. He was seated at the head of an enormous table in what appeared to be an ornate medieval hall. _Rondoles__ Halle_, he thought, surprising himself as the name suddenly sprang to mind. Shaking his head, Roxton began to search the room for Marguerite.

The blonde woman on his left smiled when she noticed his gaze. "Enjoying the banquet, dear?" she asked.

"Very much, my lady," Roxton replied courteously, falling back on his manners when his mind deserted him. _Who is she? Where am I? _

Her smile broadened, and though Roxton's heart did not clench as it did for Marguerite, he was not untouched by her exemplary beauty. "I thought that you would enjoy the respite, my lord."

Roxton nodded. "Thank you," he said, with as much sincerity as he could muster. The lady flashed him another brilliant smile, and then proceeded to continue her discussion with the man across from her, leaving Roxton to his thoughts.

He was not given much time to ponder the situation, however, for a moment later the large doors at the opposite end of the hall burst open with a boom. In rode a large man in full armour, with a belligerence in his face Roxton knew meant trouble.

A red-headed man seated on Roxton's right leapt to his feet in anger, and Roxton felt himself smile slightly. _My brother Cai, still defending me thirty years later. _Roxton blinked._ Brother? Cai? _"What is the meaning of this disturbance? Declare yourself, Stranger," Cai challenged.

The knight raised his visor to reveal burning hazel eyes. "I am Sir Galeron, the greatest knight in Galloway. I come with a challenge for your so-called 'High King,'" the strange knight thundered, glaring at Roxton. _High King?_ "Connok, Conyngham, and also Kyle, Lomond, Losex, and the hills of Loyan you have taken from me by unjust tricks in war. My lands you gave to your nephew, but he shall never rule them whilst I live and breathe, unless he wins them in combat on a fair field," Sir Galeron declared, looking around in search of his rival. Failing to sight his enemy near him, the knight directed his hatred at Roxton again. "I propose a trial by combat, to the death. I will meet your champion; the winner will rule my lands."

All eyes turned to Roxton. He rose from his chair—from his _throne_, he realized with a start—to face Sir Galeron. "As you can see, you have interrupted our celebrations. We are unprepared for combat and have no champion ready. Nonetheless, you will be matched by noon tomorrow." Roxton was not entirely sure where his words were coming from; when he had opened his mouth, he had intended to refuse the challenge. "Therefore I advise you to rest for the night. Caradoc will show you to your pavilion."

A young page boy, presumably Caradoc, stepped forward bravely. "Sir Knight, if you would follow me," Caradoc asked politely. Nodding to Roxton, Sir Galeron followed the page out of the hall, leaving silence in his wake.

By unspoken consent, about twenty men rose from their seats to gather around Roxton while the ladies left the hall. Frowning in puzzlement, Roxton was about to speak but Cai beat him to it. "You cannot face this Galeron, brother, though I know you wish to defend the honour of your court." Roxton had been right: his brother here was Cai, not William, though he seemed just as intent on keeping Roxton out of trouble. "One of us must see to it that our honour is not lost. Who shall join in battle with the knight?"

"I will," a familiar voice said clearly. Roxton spun around to face a solemn Gavin Conway. "I give my hand in promise. I will fight this Sir Galeron tomorrow at noon in defence of my honour, by your leave, my lord." The others around him were nodding, but Roxton was of a mixed mind. Part of him wanted to forbid Gavin—if it _was_ Gavin—from risking his life needlessly; another part, that part connected to _this_ world, told him that this young man was both right and capable.

"You always were quick to defend our honour, nephew, but I would not see you lose your life for lordship over some land." A strange way to say "please don't," Roxton thought, but the sentiment was right.

Not that Gavin—his _nephew?_—listened. "I will be fine, uncle." The other knight supported him, and Roxton quickly found himself overruled.

"Very well," Roxton acquiesced. "Cai, please make sure that the lists are ready and that Sir Galeron is properly equipped for the contest. I wish to speak to my nephew before he retires. Until tomorrow, gentlemen." A little unsure of where he was going, Roxton followed the pathway that opened up for him amongst the knights, knowing that Gavin trailed him.

As soon as they were out of eyesight, his "nephew" grabbed him arm and pulled him aside. "Lord Roxton?"

Roxton breathed a sigh of relief. "Gavin Conway?"

The young man grinned. "It took you long enough to get here, _uncle_."

"Have you seen Marguerite?" Roxton asked anxiously.

The amusement left Gavin's face instantly. "Yes, and she's fine. I arrived here a few hours before you did. We were hunting in the forest, and when we returned, the ladies of the court were there to greet us. I was surprised when Marguerite stayed behind; I thought that she would run to you immediately, but she has a better grasp of this place than I do. She knew that it wasn't you. Still, she nearly had a fit when that blonde lady kissed the king."

"What are you talking about?" Roxton was now thoroughly confused.

"I don't know why, but Marguerite, Elaine, and I all arrived here about three hours before you did. You were my uncle, the king, until about halfway through the banquet."

"How did you know?"

"I didn't," Gavin admitted candidly. "Marguerite did."

At the mention of Marguerite, Roxton's mind snapped back on track. "Where is she?"

"This way," Gavin said, leading him down one corridor and then another. He glanced around, then opened one of the large wooden doors, ushering Roxton through quickly. He closed the door immediately, bolting it shut, leaving Roxton with more than a few questions. "Elaine? Marguerite?"

"John?" Roxton nearly fell over as he whipped around at the sound of her voice.

"Marguerite." His relief was almost palpable. Marguerite stood across the room, stunningly beautiful in a silken claret dress. "Thank God you're all right," he said fervently, covering the distance between them in seconds.

For a brief moment she melted into his embrace, her relief at finding him making Roxton's heart soar. All too soon, however, she pulled away insistently and without explanation. The regret in her blue-grey eyes was enough to pacify him, though he added another question to his ever-growing list.

"What happened?" Elaine asked her brother. Roxton blinked, noticing the girl for the first time.

"I accepted Galeron's challenge."

"_You did what?_" his sister hissed furiously. Roxton winced for Gavin. Marguerite and Elaine were unquestionably related.

"Tomorrow, at noon, I will fight Sir Galeron," Gavin replied calmly. "I'm not looking forward to it and I don't understand it, but just as you knew we should sit away from the High Table, I know that I must face Galeron. I'm sorry, Elaine," he finished softly.

The girl looked troubled. "Promise me that you'll come back," she said finally.

"I'll do my best, Elaine. I have the honour of Lord Roxton's court to defend, after all," he finished with a grin, eliciting a small smile from his sister.

"You had no objections to this?" Marguerite asked Roxton incredulously.

"No, and for the same reason that you don't either," he replied knowingly.

After a brief flash of anger in Marguerite's grey eyes, she relented. "He must defeat Sir Galeron if we are to leave here."

A small smile for his victory, and then Roxton moved on to the next problem at hand. "Have you seen Veronica, Ned or Challenger here yet?"

Marguerite shook her head. "They aren't here." She paused for a moment, and then continued. "And they're not coming, either." One glance at his face and she became irritated. "I don't know, so don't ask, Roxton. They're just not coming, all right?"

He just nodded. "So now what?"

"Now we all go to sleep because Gavin's going to fight some stupid knight in the morning," Marguerite snapped. "Come on, Elaine." The girl rose automatically, and Roxton growled.

"_Elaine_?"

"Yes, Elaine," Marguerite replied harshly. "Did you honestly think that I'd let you anywhere near me? You can't control—and there would be trouble." His hurt must have shown on his face, for her anger dissipated instantly and she frowned as if in confusion. Some realization flickered across her face, and her eyes shifted to a softer blue-green. They seemed to change colour faster here, Roxton noticed. "You don't…you haven't figured it out yet, have you?"

"Figured out what?" Now it was his turn to become irritated. 

"Who you are. Who _we_ are."

Blast Marguerite and her evasive answers. "I'm a king, Gavin's a knight and my nephew, and you're no lady," he retorted.

"You're right, I'm not a lady," Marguerite agreed mildly, deliberately ignoring his dig. "I'm a priestess."

"And a princess," Elaine added helpfully.

Marguerite searched his face for understanding and finding none, sighed. "You still don't understand, do you? I would have thought that _you_ of all people—well, propriety demands that I introduce everyone to you."

"Your niece, Elaine of Orkney," she began before he could object. Elaine curtseyed; her white gown a stark contrast to Marguerite's deep red.

"And her brother, your nephew and greatest knight, Sir Gawain, Prince of Orkney," she continued, indicating Gavin with her hand. Roxton's eyes widened as the name finally registered. _Gawain?__ But that's impossible!_

Gavin, playing along, stepped forward and bowed. "My king."

Seeing the dawning recognition in his face, Marguerite hesitated for a moment.

Gavin took over for her. "And finally, may I present to your Majesty our aunt, the Lady Morgan of Avalon."

"_Our_ aunt?"

"Yes, Roxton, pay attention," Marguerite said sharply, obviously unsettled. "I'm your aunt here, or your half-aunt anyway." Roxton began to laugh. "This is not _funny_, John! You're _married_, we're _related_, and if we don't find a bloody way out of here, I'll never see you again!"

Her genuine distress extinguished his amusement like an ocean of water on a candle flame. "Marguerite, I'm sorry," he began. "We'll get out of here, I promise. And even if we didn't, nothing on earth would keep me away from you."

Marguerite's nearly hysterical laughter was frightening. "I don't think you quite understand the situation, John. Don't you know who you are already?"

Frustrated, Roxton shut down all other trains of thought. He had not yet gotten an opportunity to think on this scenario; it had been simply action-reaction. _I'm a king, a High King. Sir Gawain, Lady Morgan…? _His head snapped up. "That's impossible. I can't be—"

"The greatest king this world has ever seen, the forever king, Arthur of Britain," Marguerite finished sadly.

_A/N: Loosely based on the text of "The Awyntyrs off Arthur" with certain elements from my favourite Arthurian novels, _The Road to Avalon, The Mists of Avalon, andThe Squire's Tale _series _(a children's comedy), _twisted for my purposes. Read the actual text of "The Awyntyrs" at The Camelot Project at The University of Rochester._


	11. The Tourney

_Chapter Eleven: The Tourney_

At long last, Lord Roxton managed one strangled word: "Impossible."

Marguerite said nothing. As her back was to him, Gavin could not see her expression, but suddenly Lord Roxton stepped around her to stare at Elaine.

Gavin stood quietly as the British lord scrutinized them each in turn. When Roxton turned back to Marguerite, there was a definitive slump in his stance.

"Marguerite?" he whispered.

"It will be all right, John," she said softly, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder. "We'll find a way out of this—we always do." Lord Roxton pulled Marguerite to him, and she made no motion to resist.

Gavin barely caught the sound of that invisible bell this time, but even before Marguerite shot a grateful glance at Elaine, he knew that their plans had changed.

"You're sleeping in the king's chambers tonight, Gavin," Elaine told him simply after the door had closed behind Lord Roxton and Marguerite.

"I'll see you in the morning then," he said lightly. Elaine, seated on the couch, made no response. Gavin frowned. "Elaine?" he prompted. As soon as her eyes met his, he knew. "It will be all right, Elaine, I promise. Come, let's get you to bed." Then, just as he had done when she was five, Gavin put his little sister to bed, tucking the sheets in around her securely. "Goodnight."

"'Night, Gavin," her voice came, muffled by a yawn. With a slight smile, Gavin put out the lights, and slipped out into the hallway.

* * *

_"Just…be careful, Gavin." _Elaine shook her head, the idiocy of her admonition mocking her. She fiddled with her skirt again, trying to get comfortable in the hard wooden chair and ignore the growing tumult from below.

To her dismay, the day had dawned clear and bright. Sir Cai had arranged the lists, the horses were ready, and the people were eager for a fight. There was no escaping it. Gavin would joust with Sir Galeron at noon.

She and Marguerite were seated on both sides of Lord Roxton, under a small silken pavilion that served to screen them from the burning midday sun. The other noblemen spread out on both sides of the pavilion; before them stood the lists, and behind the field the peasantry was lined up four deep. Everyone had come to see the famed Sir Gawain battle the strange knight.

A great cry arose as the two knights appeared, riding their chargers towards the dais. The king stood to give a few appropriate words, but Elaine's attention was focused solely on her brother. Gavin was a little pale but composed, whereas _she_ could feel the painful thudding of her heart against her ribs, her fear for him overwhelming every other emotion. Suddenly, with a wave of Roxton's hand, they turned away, and Elaine began to panic.

_Gavin shouldn't be out there! _The knights had reached opposite ends of the lists; Caradoc handed Galeron a lance and Squire Terence passed one to Gavin. They saluted Roxton, who acknowledged them with a nod, and then turned to face each other. An icy fist of fear seized Elaine's heart. _Gavin!_ Lord Roxton stepped forward to give the signal and she opened her mouth to cry out against the madness.

**_No!_** The sharp reprimand cut through Elaine's panicked thoughts like a knife through butter, startling her into obedience. Too late: Roxton's arm fell, and the two opponents were rushing at each other, lances and visors lowered.

With a resounding crash, man and beast met. A shower of splinters fell as the lances shattered into a thousand pieces. Both opponents reeled dangerously in the saddles, though both recovered enough to turn their horses for another pass. The squires passed up the second round of lances, and without a moment's pause they were spurring their horses on again.

The second time, both lances shattered again. Elaine barely had time to marvel at Gavin's newfound skill with the weapon before she cried out as her brother fell limply from his charger. On the other side of the lists, Galeron swayed dangerously until he, too, crashed earthwards.

Only Roxton's firm grip on her arm prevented Elaine from dashing out to the field. An audible sigh of relief rose from the three of them as Gavin stirred and rose groggily. Unfortunately, so did Galeron, and with a roar of rage, drew his blade and staggered towards his opponent.

Galeron's blade came crashing towards her brother, but suddenly Gavin's sword was in his hand and steel met steel with a clang. Elaine's heart was in her throat as the two circled each other with a deadly, catlike grace, interspersed with fierce bursts of fighting. She could not help the small cry that burst from her lips when Galeron struck a glancing blow and red bloomed from beneath Gavin's armour. Elaine had underestimated her brother, however, and soon both men were covered in dirt, sweat, and blood.

The battle wore on. Both men had discarded their helms, struggling for breath. They would battle briefly before both would collapse, spent. Eventually one would regain the strength to stand, and the other would always rise to meet him. And so the pattern continued as they churned the field to mud.

"Arthur, they'll both die of blood loss if this doesn't end soon," Marguerite whispered worriedly.

"You know that I can't stop the battle," he replied tightly.

Green-grey eyes flashed dangerously. "_That's your nephew out there!_" she hissed.

Her anger broke over him like ocean waves against a stone cliff. "I know, Morgan," Roxton replied, sounding unutterably weary. "I know." A tense silence reigned before they returned their attention to the lists in unison.

On the field, Galeron had risen to his feet and towered over a crumpled, bleeding Gavin, his sword lying limply in his hand. His swing would sever Gavin's head from his shoulders.

Time slowed; steel blurred. The roar of the crowd faded to a dull murmur, yet Elaine clearly heard the rustle of Marguerite's dress as the lady leapt to her feet, a cry on her lips. Beside her, Lord Roxton edged forward in his seat, gripping the chair with white-knuckled fists.

A sword flashed in the sun. Somehow, Gavin snaked his sword around Galeron's, and with a move that had nothing to do with strength, disarmed him with a flick of the wrist. A quick blow brought Galeron to the ground. Her brother staggered to his feet, the tip of his blade centimetres from his enemy's throat.

Time resumed. Elaine's heart began beating again, and she nearly fainted from the rush of relief. Roxton stood slowly and strode towards Gavin and Sir Galeron. Though preoccupied with her brother's welfare, Elaine noticed the peculiar, subtle _difference_ in the British lord. He had not changed; rather, there was something about him that seemed sharper, more defined.

"My lord," Gavin acknowledged, his eyes never leaving his defeated foe. Following at Roxton's heels, Elaine observed her brother with a fierce pride and a strange sense of recognition. Gavin's muddy, matted red hair clung to his forehead. His face and body were liberally splattered with blood and dirt; chips of his armour were missing. She knew that he was very near to fainting, yet his stance never wavered, every inch the victorious prince. All around them, the crowd roared its approval, cheering young Sir Gawain, king's nephew, knight of the Round Table in glorious triumph.

The king considered the fallen knight thoughtfully; the threat to his rule had been eradicated and he recognized the opportunity immediately. Roxton was torn between admiration for the warrior and a dull, throbbing anger. _That's your nephew out there!_

He winced inwardly. _I know, Morgan. I know. _Galeron's blond head was bowed in defeat. Roxton realized with a start that he was not much older than Ned or Gavin. "Do you yield?"

Galeron glanced over at him, startled. "I yield," he said incredulously. The sword that had been pressing into his neck was removed instantly and Gawain offered the knight a hand up. Looking dazed, Galeron accepted, only to fall to his knees before Roxton.

"In yielding, I have relinquished my claims to the lands of Sir Gawain. I realize now that they are but petty trappings of no import," he said clearly. "The greatest knight I have ever had the honour of facing serves a king who is as magnanimous as his knight is fierce." Galeron looked up, his eyes suspiciously bright. "Your majesty, it is my most fervent desire that you accept me into your service. I can think of no greater honour."

Roxton could sense Marguerite's disapproval. Uncomfortable with the open adoration of the knight at his feet, he turned to Gavin appealingly.

"Sir Galeron is a most formidable warrior, my lord." Gavin paused, and then turned to survey the knights around him. "What say you, my lords?" Their response told Roxton all he needed to know.

Mentally thanking his nephew, Roxton turned back to Galeron with a smile. He drew the sword at his side smoothly, mildly disappointed to find only an exceptionally well-made weapon. Roxton quickly touched Galeron's shoulders with the blade. "Rise, Sir Galeron, and welcome to our fellowship. Remain true to yourself, honor always your king."

The crowd's applause was cut off abruptly by the collapse of Sir Galeron. A few ladies shrieked. With only the faintest expression of distaste, Marguerite knelt beside the fallen knight and quickly assessed his injuries. "Get him to the healers' tent, now!" she ordered. Though it was certainly coming in handy, Roxton found it mildly disturbing that Cai already had a stretcher prepared. Moments later, six men were hauling Galeron off the field.

"No!" Elaine's sharp cry brought everyone's attention to another fact: away from the hubbub, Gavin too had fainted, if a bit less dramatically.

For the next two hours, Roxton watched helplessly as Marguerite, Elaine, and Roxton's camp doctor worked over the two opponents feverishly. He had helped as much as possible, but knew that both Marguerite and Elaine were exerting themselves far more than it appeared. The near constant humming in the back of mind attested to it, as did the pallor of their faces.

When Gavin finally awoke, Roxton breathed a sigh of relief. He had just enough time to realize that something was different about the boy before his world spun again…


	12. For Britain

Chapter 12: For Britain

Dawn was breaking over the hills. As the light filtered down through the mist it revealed two shadowy shapes in its wake. A tall, brown-haired young man, barely more than a boy, stood holding the reins to stallion; his companion, a slim, dark-haired young lady stood beside him silently as they watched the sun rise together.

"It's nearly dawn, Arthur," she said softly.

The young man showed no indication that he had even heard her. Then, suddenly, "_Come away with me._" She looked up at him, startled, her eyes a marvelous blue-green. He repeated his offer to her, intent on her face. "Come away with me, Morgan."

"What?" she whispered.

"Come away with me."

"But the Isle—I am promised—Viviane will never allow me to leave."

His face changed at the sound of the High Priestess's name. "Damn Viviane, and damn Merlin too! They've been playing us from the beginning. We're nothing more to them than pawns in their damned game!" He took a deep breath, reining in his rage. When he spoke, his voice was lower, though still caustic. "If it wasn't for them and their bloody machinations, we wouldn't even be here."

"And you would never have met me," she pointed out.

The comment had its desired effect; his eyes softened, and his body relaxed as he looked down at her again. "I would have found you. Sooner or later, I would have found you. We were meant to be together, Morgan." Her breath caught at the look in his eyes. "If they won't accept us here, then let us leave this place. We can go to…to Armorica." He grasped at her hands desperately. "I could earn a living for us—by the sword, if I had to. We could be happy there." His dark eyes bored intensely into hers. "_Come away with me, Morgan_."

He could feel the shudder that wracked her whole frame. "No priest will ever marry us without your father's permission," she said at last, her voice weak.

He stepped closer. "Do you need a priest to feel married to me?"

"No." Her lips formed the word, but no sound emerged. Still, his face relaxed very slightly.

"It doesn't matter what anyone says. They don't understandYou and I, we don't need them. We don't need much to make us happy. _Come away with me, Morgan_," he insisted, the urgency in his voice undeniable.

There was a long moment of silence as she stared up into his face. Almost absently, she reached up and brushed back the lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Tears began to slip down her cheeks unnoticed. She shook her head. "No, Arthur," she said in a constricted voice he barely recognized. "I cannot let you do it."

"Listen to me, my love. I don't care about the kingship! I _need_ you, Morgan." His grip on her tightened painfully. He _had _to make he understand. "None of this matters to me if I cannot have you. I would rather be a nameless mercenary with you at my side, than High King of Britain without you. You know that!"

"Yes, I know." Her voice was the faintest breath of wind. She was quite pale; her hands clenched into small fists. The tears had ceased to fall but her face was still streaked with wet. "And if we two do as you say, Arthur, what become of Britain?"

His face darkened and he turned away, his back suddenly rigid. "Britain will be as she always was."

She took a moment to gather herself together. "And what if she is not? No, Arthur," she said tightly. "If you leave, Britain will tear herself apart. Lot will try to take the throne after Uther dies and there will be civil war. You know this. And then the Sea Wolves will come pouring in." Every word was a knife in two hearts. "Tell me, how would you feel, safely away in Armorica, when the news arrived?"

He turned back around to face her, the conflicting emotions tearing at his soul displayed clearly on his face. "I—I would be happy there, because I had you," he said stubbornly.

She smiled sadly and reached up to trace his jaw line slowly. "I know you too well," she said, the lightness of her tone contrasting with the darkness in her eyes. "You would not be able to bear it. It would drive you mad, knowing that we had left Britain to her fate."

"No."

"Yes."

"_No,_ Morgan. Don't you understand? You are my sanity, my happiness…you are everything to me," he told her. "I cannot do it without you. I simply…cannot."

"You can," she said simply. "You must."

He took a step closer, and then another. "_No_! No, Morgan! You must listen to me."

From somewhere deep within, she found the courage to say what must be said, to do what must be done. She raised her head and straightened her back—every inch the queen she would never be—and then said, "And how do you think I will feel? Britain is my country, too."

He did not answer. He felt suddenly numb, as if a great blast of icy wind had frozen him to his very marrow. This could not be happening…

Her eyes were darker than he had ever seen them. "You are far too precious a commodity for me, Arthur," she said quietly. "You were meant for greater things." She closed her eyes to blot out the look on his face. "It's…it's for the best."

"For whom?" he asked bitterly.

Their eyes met. "For Britain."

He realized, suddenly, that she was serious. She was going to sacrifice them both for the sake of Britain.

Pain stabbed through him like a knife to the gut. He was having difficulty breathing; no matter how hard he tried, his lungs could not seem to get enough air.

When he spoke, his voice carried a harshness that she had never heard from him before. "If you send me away now, I will not come back."

There was a long moment of silence as the words hung in the air between them.

She could not move. She could not speak. She could not breathe.

She felt the painful thudding of her heart against her ribs and had to clench her hands to keep from reaching for him. What could she say? He already knew that she would always love him. "Be the king that you were born to be," she said finally. She closed her eyes then, and only after she heard the sound of the horse's hooves beating against the road off in the distance did she allow herself to fall to her knees and cry.

* * *

He rode fast, furiously, dangerously. For how long, he did not know. When he dismounted, the dawn had streaked the sky an angry red.

He tethered his horse loosely to a nearby tree and walked down to the water. _This can't be happening_, he thought. _She cannot mean it._

Instead of the water, he saw her face, saw it as it had looked when she said, "You're far too precious a commodity for me." She meant it. She was going to sacrifice them both for the good of Britain.

She was wrong. _He_ had meant it when he said he could not do it without her. She was the very heart of him. Without her…without her…

He shut his eyes, and the desolation was so great that he was dizzy with it. He felt as if he were falling, falling down a dark, endless well of despair, with no help, no hope, and no escape.

He opened his eyes and saw the river.

Escape.

The Camm was deep here, deep enough for him to do it.

Escape.

He stepped into the river; the water came up to his ankles. Warmed by the summer sun it was almost pleasant. He would simply wade out into the water, and let the river take him away.

Escape.

Escape from this pain that froze his skin to his bones and turned his very marrow to ice. Escape from this terrible pain of aloneness. He walked a little further. The river splashed about his legs, and he watched it darken the cloth of his breeches.

Escape.

He took one step, and then another. Another five steps and he would have it. An end to this unspeakable pain that the wrenching loss of Morgan—

Morgan. If he did this now, Morgan would know it was because of her.

He paused. She had sent him away to save him for Britain. It was the greatest act of unselfishness he had ever seen from her. Even now, the dreadful irony was not lost on him, and another agonizing stab of pain shot thorough his being even as a bitter, wry smile made its way across his face.

Yes, if he walked into this river, Morgan would know that it was because of her. He would throw her gift back in her face. He would condemn her to live with his death on her conscience…and in doing so, he would damn her.

He could not do that to her.

He staggered back out to the bank and looked out at the deeper water longingly. _Not today_, he thought. _Not today._ Maybe later, in battle perhaps, when she would never know the cause…

He raised his hands to his face to stifle the sound of his own crying.

* * *

There was something cool and hard beneath him. Roxton opened his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the blinding light. He was lying on a white marble floor.

With great effort, he pushed himself up to his elbows. He had just begun to assess his surroundings when memory struck him like a blow, leaving him breathless. "Marguerite!" he shouted, suddenly panicked, jerking his head about wildly as he searched for her. "MARGUERITE!"

"John!" He did not know how they had gotten here, or how he managed to find the strength to pull himself over to her, but suddenly she was in his arms, and the world was right again. "John!" They clung to each other desperately, the dampness on their cheeks a testimony to their tears. Whispered words and frantic touches passed between them until they were totally assured they were truly there, together. A collective sigh rose from them, and the light of humor in their eyes returned.

Someone cleared her throat, and they turned in unison to face her. Golden-blonde hair framed a face so like Veronica's that they started. The woman's dark blue eyes shone with kindness, affection, and warmth. She smiled at them, a sparkle lighting her eyes at their shock. "Welcome to Avalon, my children."

* * *

A/N: I have taken the Arthurian myths to suit my purposes, and many of the lines in this chapter are stolen directly from Joan Wolf's _The Road to Avalon_. 

Review! Let me know what you think, and ifit would be worth itto finish this story.


	13. Brief Encounters

_Chapter Thirteen: Brief Encounters_

A/N: Thanks to leener, tethys, E-or, RoxtonsChick, Mid-Nite2787, Hope, and ParsifalinHeels for their reviews. I know I've been terrible about updating but I didn't realize that there were that many people still interested in this fic.

Mainly a filler chapter, I admit, but I'm struggling with the incredibly complicated chapters that must come next. Anyone willing to beta or co-write is more than welcome. I've added a bit more M/R, of a slightly different flavor.

* * *

"NO!" Ned screamed, rushing forward at breakneck speed though a small part of him knew that he would never reach her in time. The taxi cab's breaks squealed loudly and Ned prayed—_prayed_—but the cruel metal slammed into Veronica, toppling the blonde as bright blood bloomed on her white lace dress. "NO!" 

"Ned!" A strong, familiar hand was on his shoulder, shaking him urgently. "Wake up!" Blue eyes flew open as Ned lurched forward in bed, gasping.

"Veronica?"

She smiled at him reassuringly and his body lost some of its tension at her very real touch. "I'm right here, Ned," Veronica said softly. "We're in Avalon. Safe."

_Avalon._

_Safe._

The ideas permeated his tired brain slowly. Veronica was still observing him worriedly.

_Veronica_.

That one thought shot straight to his head and Ned collapsed back into his pillows with a sigh, blonde head falling back.

"Come on, sleepyhead, get up," Veronica needled, shaking his shoulder gently. "My mom wants to see us soon."

Ned shot up in bed, nearly shoving Veronica off in the process. "Your mother?"

"Hey!" Veronica exclaimed, smothered beneath his sheets. "Watch it!"

"Sorry," Ned said sheepishly, pulling down the covers and shrugging. Suddenly his eyes lit and he turned to face her sharply. "Your mother?"

Veronica smiled happily. "Yes." Her voice was so lively, so full of joy, that it left no space in the room for Ned's earlier anxiety. Ned waited another moment, but Veronica said nothing, simply beaming at him. Silently.

"Well?"

"Well what?" she repeated, brow furrowing slightly in confusion though her smile barely dimmed.

"You met your mother?"

Veronica nodded happily. "And?" Ned prompted again, a slight smile hovering about his lips at her obvious enchantment.

"And she's very eager to meet you, Mr. Malone," another voice answered in amusement.

* * *

Abigail nearly burst into laughter as the boy whipped around to face her. "I…Mrs. Layton…it's wonderful to meet you. Veronica's told us so much about you," he finished awkwardly, clearly aggravated by his stammering. 

Abigail smiled openly. "The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Malone. Veronica's told me quite a bit about you, too."

"Some of it good, I hope," Malone joked, his face still slightly red.

"All of it good," Abigail replied, her smile widening as she observed the surprise and sudden uncertainty of the young man before her.

Malone swallowed and licked his lips unconsciously while Veronica hid a smile. Abigail greatly resembled the cat who had just caught the canary.

"Err…is there something I can for you, Mrs. Layton?"

Abigail's lips quirked. _You could ask my permission to marry my daughter and spend the rest of your life making her happy, _she thought. It was best not to frighten off the boy too soon, though. "I thought that you two might prefer having breakfast here," she said, "but I would appreciate it if you meet me in the Council Chamber afterwards. There are some matters concerning the Plateau that we need to discuss."

Veronica's face darkened and she looked up at her mother worriedly. "What issues?"

Abigail shook her head. "Later, darling. I'll go check and see how your friends are doing." Seeing Veronica's worry lines deepen, Abigail hastily reassured her daughter. "They're just fine, Veronica. A little shaken, perhaps, but they're all right. I'll see you two in an hour, then?"

"Of course, Mom," Veronica replied automatically. Abigail nodded, wished them a pleasant meal, and headed out but hesitated at the door. "Mom?"

The elder blonde woman spun around suddenly and crossed the room in a few strides, engulfing Veronica in her arms. "I'm so glad you're finally here," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. "I love you, my girl."

"Love you too, Mom," Veronica choked out after a moment. Abigail hugged her daughter hard—her beloved, beautiful, grown-up little girl—and then released her gently. "I'll see you soon." Then, with a tearful smile, Abigail left the room.

Halfway down the hall, her ears caught Veronica's delighted exclamation: "Crêpes!" Abigail smiled sadly. Her daughter had not eaten her favorite food in eleven years.

* * *

Surprisingly, Marguerite woke first. As always, she remained absolutely still until memory returned and she recognized her surroundings. 

_Avalon._

_Safe._

Her…John stirred beside her, and Marguerite forced herself to relax lest she wake him.

_John._

Even in his sleep, however, he somehow sensed her unease, and his arms tightened around her.

Marguerite sighed softly. They had slept together like this far too many times for her liking.

No matter how they fell asleep, they always ended up in the same position on mornings like these.

One of his arms was around her shoulders; the other covered the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. Her arms were around his waist, pulling him into her. Her cheek was pressed against his chest; his face was nestled in her hair. They were as close as they could get without actually becoming one, both so terrified of losing the other that they required constant physical reassurance of their presence, at least for now.

This was how they woke together, on the mornings after they had both cheated Death again. They woke slightly differently when it was only Roxton who had beaten Death or only Marguerite who had cheated it. Today, however, they woke together.

"Marguerite?" Roxton croaked hoarsely, his voice still sluggish with sleep.

"Yes?" Ever a man of few words, Roxton simply rolled over and kissed her deeply. Their caresses grew more skillful, more unbearable, and in no time they were both fully awake. As usual, however, a knock on the door precluded further activity. Roxton groaned loudly and Marguerite hastily readjusted her nightgown.

"Coming!" he shouted.

Roxton stumbled out of bed and moved towards the door slowly. He cracked it open and looked out, then stepped back to allow an indecently cheerful Elaine and amused Gavin in.

"Morning, Marguerite," Elaine said brightly, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. "Hello, Roxton."

"Good morning, Elaine," Marguerite replied cordially, squashing her frustration. "What brings you here so early?"

Standing a few feet behind Elaine, Gavin's eyes widened fractionally as he looked at Marguerite. Roxton looked at him sharply, his message a warning. Gavin nodded towards Elaine; Roxton inclined his head. The men were in agreement. Marguerite resisted the urge to roll her eyes at their antics.

"Aunt Abigail asked us to see if you were up yet—she's gone to get Professor Challenger. She'd like us to meet her in the Council Chamber at noon."

Marguerite frowned slightly. "What for?"

Elaine shrugged. "I don't know. It didn't…" The girl bit her lip and then looked up at Marguerite, gray eyes troubled. "…whatever it is, it's not good news." A brief shadow flitted across Marguerite's face and her eyes lost some of their light as she nodded solemnly.

"How do you know?" Roxton asked, brow furrowed slightly. "Did she say anything?"

Elaine shook her head. "No, she didn't. It was just—" Again, the girl broke off to look at Marguerite. _I know, _Marguerite thought, mildly impressed that Elaine was willing to share the information "There's something wrong," the girl said helplessly. "I don't know what it is, but something bad is coming. Soon."

Roxton looked over at Gavin, eyebrow raised, as Elaine bristled slightly. The young man shrugged. "I've learned to trust her instincts," he said simply, earning a bright smile from his sister. The two looked at each grinned at each other, clearly recalling other times and places.

Marguerite herself could recall a number of times—far too many, actually—when only some odd instinct had saved her life. Here on the Plateau, she had worried for some time that she'd lost the skill—until just a few short months after their arrival, it had returned in full force. She'd never quite been able to explain those odd twinges of hers, but like Gavin, had learned long ago not to question them.

"She's right," Marguerite said shortly, her tone indicating that he should _drop the subject now. _After all, _her _odd instincts had saved _his _life enough times that he could at least accept _her _word, if not Elaine's.

Roxton sighed. "I guess we'll find out soon enough," he said.

_Thank you_, Marguerite told him silently.

Roxton nodded in acknowledgement, a mischievous smile upon his lips. He raised an eyebrow suggestively. _You'll thank me later?_

Marguerite's sultry smile was meant for one man alone. _Of course._ Her smile widened at his sharp intake of breath.

"We'll meet you there, all right?" Elaine said suddenly, her voice unusually loud.

Marguerite nodded, still staring at Roxton. "Half an hour," he said sharply. She raised an eyebrow at him and his dark eyes narrowed.

"Right," Gavin said briskly. Marguerite's eyes flickered over them as they left the room hurriedly, Gavin smiling slightly, Elaine slightly flushed.

After the door closed behind them, Marguerite looked up at Roxton, a clear challenge in her eyes. "Half an hour?"

"Half an hour," he confirmed, rising to meet her.

They were ten minutes late to the meeting.

Marguerite admitted to no one that it was mainly her fault.

* * *

A/N: I know that my style's changed drastically since the start of this fic; I hope that it doesn't interfere with the narrative. Next chapter (ideally) we get to the crux of the problem and more long explanations. 

Please review!

Oh, and if anyone would like to beta this fic (well, the upcoming chapters anyway), please let me know. It also gives me a more concrete deadline for writing.


End file.
